


Nobody Needs To Know.

by TowerGirl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Complete, Domestic Violence, F/M, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:03:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TowerGirl/pseuds/TowerGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek should have never married Kate. Four years into an abusive relationship he finds salvation in a young man who reminds him the worth of his own life. However as a pawn in Kate's hand how can he escape without putting Stiles into danger?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All my other works are on hiatus until this one is complete, I will be uploading this fic every friday (GMT).

     Derek wakes up at six am everyday like clockwork. In the last four years he has never used an alarm, he doesn't need one nor does he want one. The chirpy, mechanical sound would shatter the illusion of those precious few moments of peace he has before before he glances over his shoulder and remembers his wife. This morning, as with every other, she lies with her back facing him. Her body tense with awareness. He sleeps in the same fashion. They are a cold, mirrored pair, who, even in unconsciousness cannot trust one another.

     No sunlight yet streams through the blind but Derek gets out of the bed in spite of the dark. He embraces this time of morning, the quiet before the storm of the day provides a small pocket of solitude in the city that never sleeps. He takes care not to put pressure on the mattress as he raises and tip toes towards the bathroom. He changes in silence, daring not to make a sound despite the solid oak door that separates him from her. Then, quiet as he can, he leaves to pound the streets of New York. Letting the harsh winters air fill his lungs to the point of dizziness, giving control over to his feet. Allowing him to forget everything else. To forget her.

     When he returns, she is gone. The bed is made, her coat and shoes are missing from the hallway. Not a trace of her can be found. No dishes left draining on the side, no half drank cups of tea, nothing. He won't see her again until tomorrow morning at the very earliest. Until then he can pretend she doesn't exist. These days they avoid each other as much as possible. An arrangement he's more than happy with, he's tired of her games. He never should of married her. Though to this the day, it remains a choice he refuses to regret.

*

     He'd first met Kate nine years ago. He was sixteen and amazed that this older, incredibly hot woman was interested him. A late flush of puberty presented him with a spoil of benefits. Puppy fat transformed into lean muscle and skin tanned from a final summer spent outdoors with his cousins and older sister, Laura. The girls in his year now smiled at him as he walked though the school halls, easing him into a more confident persona. No longer the bookish boy lost in the throng of hormonal teenagers. He was propositioned several times in that first term yet it was Kate who caught his attention. Twenty-one year old Kate who got him into clubs. Kate who was cool, who smoked and drank, and drove. Who laughed constantly, always looking for fun. Kate who took his virginity with confidence, who taught him how to feel pleasure. Real, orgasmic pleasure, unparalleled to jacking off alone in his room. She came into his life and blew him away. He was sixteen. She was his first girlfriend, first kiss, first everything. How could anyone blame him for mistaking it for love.

     It never crossed his mind that it was odd for an adult to date a teenager. Though quiet, he wasn't particularly mature for his age. Still he never questioned why she was dating him too entrapped by her mere presence. Or why she was so secretive about their relationship. For one they would never go out in Beacon Hills, driving instead to the nearby city for dates. She always declined to meet his friends, and would never mention hers. In-fact she never even talked about herself. Though she always encouraged him to talk about his life, his family in particular. He never thought it was strange that she would lap it all up in earnest in a way that, at times, seemed almost too eager. He just presumed that she loved him. She never told him she did, but she neither did she deny it. He was ready to tell her everything, that he was a werewolf just like the rest of his family. He knew he could trust her, at least that was what he thought.

     He was at school when it happened. The police arrived to escort him and Laura to the station. Their headteacher, Mrs Moore, normally a force to be reckoned with, remained silent as they climbed into the back of the police car. That was the first clue. Yet he never suspected how serious the situation was. He was young, naive, that kind of tragedy was incomprehensible. The stuff of fiction, or an article on the news, a detachable kind of reality. For the duration of the drive he sweated profusely, thinking he'd been spotted in one of his trysts of under-age drinking with Kate. It would explain Laura's presence for she too had a habit of getting into clubs, despite only being eighteen.

     When the sheriff informed them of the true reason why they were summoned he wished he had heard an announcement of arrest. Anything but this. Laura went white as she clutched his hand tighter and tighter. The words washed over him, he couldn't take them in.

     “Fire … only one survivor … uncle … intensive care”

     He broke away from Laura, ignoring how her heart broke as he left her alone. Standing broken in the sheriff's office. He needed to see Kate. He needed her touch, the warmth of her arms. He ran all the way to her apartment. Arriving as she was letting her self in, barely breathing, heart racing at the level of exertion. Wanting to see her face. Desperate to feel safe, to clutch at some form of comfort, to relieve just for a moment the pain that commandeered his soul. She spotted him, standing, panting in the stairway. Their eyes met and she laughed free and easy. As she always did. In that moment he knew. A hunter. She started the fire. She killed his family. She used him.

     What happened next, even to this day, remains a blur. Laura found him. He knew that much. She was his Alpha now, she could find him anywhere. She held him in her arms until he shifted back to human form, until he stopped shaking. As his tears stopped falling and his howls turned into words. Pressed against her warmth he told her everything. About Kate, about what she did, what he let her do. The ammunition he gave her. The danger he let walk into their lives. She looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears, and told him she loved him. They were all they had left. Together they ran to New York. Desperate to put as many miles between them and her as possible. Derek held misgivings about leaving Uncle Peter behind but Laura pointed out they couldn't move him until he healed. It was too dangerous to stay.

     Getting a place in New York was easy. They lied about their age and the landlord turned a blind eye. Contented with the fact they paid upfront each month with more cash than their dim little apartment deserved. They hid themselves in the concrete jungle. Where everyone was too focused on themselves, on their own problems to ask questions. Between the youths selling sex in the streets and ones found dead in back alleys, two teenagers with a roof over their heads where the least of anyone's worries. The first month they didn't leave the apartment. Rarely leaving each others side, they clung to one another, overwhelmed by the vast scale of the world and by how alone they truly were. Money was not an issue. The single stability in their chaos. The Hale Heritage was substantial even before the insurance payment cleared. Compensation of one house and eight lives.

     In time though Laura felt oppressed by the confinements of their self-made cell. She got a job at a local burger joint, filling the emptiness of her heart with the comfort of being surrounded by other people. Derek chose to fill his with guilt and bitter anger. He left the building only to observe his sister, to make sure she was safe. After a few weeks she could no longer pretend she didn't notice him tailing her and told him to stop. Not wanting to spend his time alone in that empty room he took to the city. Spending his hours lost in books and films, finding anyway he could to escape the reality of his undeserved existence. Wishing he too was home when the fire consumed it. Wondering why Kate spared him. Never forgiving himself for how he helped her.

     Five years passed and Uncle Peter never healed. Each year on the anniversary of that dreadful day Laura would visit him. She tried to convince Derek to join her but he refused to ever return to Beacon Hills. The ghosts of his family where all to present in New York, disappearing out of the corner of his eye, staring back at him in the mirror. Why return to the place where they once walked, breathed, lived. Eventually she stopped asking.

     By now he was working a menial job in the mail-room of some company he'd never bothered learning the name of. He rejoiced in the monotony of the job; losing himself in the routine, able to suppress the grief for a few precious hours. He would work longer hours when Laura was away, trying to stay out of the flat as much as possible until her return. On the day he expected her he wouldn't return until late evening, not wanting to be disappointed by an empty flat.

     On that night when he got to the flat the lights were off. The front room deserted and uninviting. He was about to turn and leave when he caught Laura's scent in the doorway, not even a few hours old. As he moved back across threshold the scent got stronger, infused with sweat and fear. Bile rising in his throat he raced into the kitchen and there she was, tied to a chair. Her eyes glazed and half closed, drugged. The air reeked of wolfs-bane. The stench sent a wave of nausea to his stomach. To her head there was a gun. Held by Kate.

     “If you want your sister to live, you better do what I say,”

     Derek carried Laura to her Camaro, Kate's gun pressed into the small of his back. She ordered him in the car and told him to drive. The gun trained on him at all times. His mind was frozen in fear. All he could think about was keeping Laura safe, keeping Laura alive. Yet there was no chance of getting free without leaving her behind to the mercy of the monster beside him. He wouldn't do it, he wouldn't abandon her again. With no way out Derek's body shut down. Obeying Kate's every command on auto-pilot.

     As the hours passed he drew up the courage to ask “Where are we going?”

     “Vegas,” smiled Kate, “Perfect place for our wedding,” He swerved the car in shock which resulted in the barrel of the gun digging painfully into his ribs. When Kate spoke again her smile was gone.

     “Here's the deal Derek. We're going to a chapel, we're having a service and you're going to say yes, unless,” she smiled once more, the same slight upturned of her lips of when she used to kiss him, “You want your sister to join the rest of your filthy family,”

     Derek bit down hard to prevent his fangs elongating. Remaining calm was his last line of defence.

     “If I do this,” he growled, “You let her go, you never go near her again,”

     Kate laughed, he flinched remembering a time when he loved that sound “You're not in a position to bargain Derek,”

     “Nor are you,” He countered, feeling a frantic surge of destructive courage, a last chance to save Laura from Kate's grasp, his only hope of redeeming himself, “You need me for a reason, you must be in a lot of trouble if you're willingly marrying a werewolf,”

     Her eyes darkened as she turned away. His heart quickened, a flicker of hope manic inside his chest.

     “Fine,” she muttered moments later breaking the tension of the car, “But if you try anything, I'll make you watch as she begs for death,”

     They drove through the night, Kate knocking him out with wolfs-bane at every rest stop. His head pounding and eyes redder with each hour that passed, barely able to focus on the road in front of him. Laura remained heavily sedated across the back-seat of the car. It took them less than two days to cross the Nevada border. Thirty minutes of entering the city of Las Vegas they were married.

     The following morning, when Laura finally awoke from her drug induced stupor Derek told her,

     “Run,"

     She opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off.

     “It's too late Laura, if you don't run it'll be for nothing,”

     He never forgot the pain he caused her. Her face was ashen white reminiscence of the day their world had crashed around them. Both times he was the cause of it. Had she been conscious the night before she would of never let him sacrifice his life for hers. He hated himself for the agony he brought her, not once but twice. She left without a word. What was there to say?

     Kate was fond of New York so they returned there. She used his money to buy a spacious penthouse and spoilt herself with luxuries that he and Laura never indulged in. He avoided her where he could, allowing her to bathe in her blood money. He cared not for it, it was poor compensation for what he had lost.

     She took a job as part of the research factuality at a nearby university. Her days spent there, her nights spent switching through phases of tormenting him until he lashed out, then punishing him with wolfs-bane to ignoring him completely. Unable to stand the sight of him. Regardless they shared that same bed each night. The presence of another body blotted out their loneliness. In their sleep they could pretend that they belonged to other lives. Time passed without Derek's knowledge. He focused on one day at a time. Kept alive by a stubbornness to survive and the thought that out there, somewhere, Laura lives.

*

     Today he doesn't go into work. He's had the day booked off for months. It's the only holiday he takes and they leave it free for him without question. He doesn't mark it on a calendar, he doesn't leave a reminder on his phone, today's date is engraved into his heart. He'll never forget it. Each year he spends it exactly the same way. He takes a small quantity of Kate's less toxic wolfs-bane, one used to subdue him on the rare occasions she entertains, and mixes it with a large quantity of alcohol. For the remainder of the day he's out of his mind, lounging about in the street with the rest of the crack-heads and alcoholics. There's a unity in their company. A shared existence beyond the realms of normality, too hurt to be part of the present world, too afraid to commit to the finality of death. For Derek however his greatest fear is failing to kill himself successfully and waking up with Kate smirking at him from the end of the hospital bed.

     This year he'd located the wolfs-bane in advance. Kate has it hidden all around the penthouse but he can only use the right kind without serious side-effects. A mistake he made once before in a frantic desire to forget and he spent the day healing tortuously slow. Carefully he slides open the false panel of the bed's headboard and reaches in for the plant. His hand comes into contact with the cold wood, it's empty. Panic floods him as he moves forward to inspect the alcove. There's nothing there. He knew she had a pouch there, he checked it just last week, she couldn't have used it already. She hadn't done anything to him that last week. She'd left him alone. Suddenly it all makes sense. This spell of uneasy peace was merely false security, she planned this. Anger swells inside him, claws lengthen as he moves to rip the bed frame to shreds. He pauses inches away from the wood, defeated. Destroying the bed would not give him sufficient satisfaction. It would not even scratch the surface of the ice which encased his heart. Yet it would give Kate satisfaction though. Knowing that her patience had paid off. That she had hurt him more in a single action than she could of done in a weeks worth of torture. She would be waiting for him with that knowing smile on her face and to rub salt in the wound, she would punish him for the damage.

     Shaking with a need to get out he leaves the apartment. He doesn't know where to go, too riled up from her cruelty, not just of today but of everyday since he'd met her. He's tired. So tired that it settles like a dull ache in his bones, this is too much. He heads towards Times Square, allowing the noise, the overwhelming scents of other people to distract him momentarily. He can't stay still. If he stopped it would catch up to him, take over. His body shudders against the hot sting of anxiety. He feels the urge to scream, to rip at himself, but the scream would turn into roars, there is no chance of controlling himself today. If he lets go now, that would be it. He can't afford to shift. He keeps walking, nearly running, following the sound. He dives into the subway, stands so close to the edge that the trains skim mere inches from his face, the air and the noise fracture his reality. However he starts attracting looks. Worried passengers thinking he'll jump, disrupting the service for hours, ruining their day by making them late. He jumps on the next train without checking where it's headed. Let's himself be crushed by other bodies, until the urge to vomit rules out and he leaves at the next stop. He takes the stairs three steps at a time and enters the icy street. It's gone dark, much later than he realised, a small gratification. He has no idea where he is. He's certain he's never been to this part of the city before. Rather than the wealth his area excludes, there's a raw energy that thumps through the streets of those down on their luck who refuse to admit defeat. Aimlessly he wanders sticking to crowds, avoiding the quiet night lurking in every alley and side street. Eventually he winds up in front of a bar. It's packed with a few clearly under-age students loitering outside, attempting to sweet talk the bouncer into letting them in. The neon sign is garish yet the crush of the bar is appealing, if he was human it would be perfect place to drown his sorrows.

     Derek brushes past the youths and enters. The wave of noise that greets him is almost relaxing, his heartbeat slows slightly as he heads to the bar. He orders a double whisky, no ice. He may not be able to get drunk but he can try regardless, at the very least he can pretend. As he scans the bar for a secluded spot to sit his attention is drawn to a lanky young man skirting the room. He's around Derek's height and young. Too young to be in here given the way he avoids going near the bar, suddenly he jerks his head up towards Derek. He takes in those innocent brown eyes for a second too long then quickly turns away. Tonight he wants to be alone, he needs to be alone, he hopes the guy will move his attention elsewhere.

     “Hi,” a warm voice greets him, so much for that Derek sighs. He turns to the man standing next to him, an genuine smile lights up the younger male's face.

     “What's your name then, Mister tall, dark and silent?”

     “Derek,” he says without thinking.

     "Stiles,” the other gestures to himself “So Derek, you going to buy me a drink or what?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to add tigger tags as I think of them so please check before reading each chapther. As always let me know what you think :) Next update October 25th (GMT)

 

     Stiles ability to talk without pausing for breath is impressive. His mouth moves at ninety words per minute as he tells Derek that he's majoring in computer science at NYU and thinking of joining the police force like his dad. He mentions how he almost didn't come to New York because he was worried about leaving his dad alone and how his best friend Scott, virtually his brother, told his dad and they both convinced him to go. He thinks New York is constant, head aching noise but loves how there is always something going on even though its freezing and seriously dude how are you out in just a jacket? As he talks his hands switch from expressing each word to furiously attacking the straw in his otherwise untouched drink. There's a comfort in Stiles endless movement, a far cry from the calculated actions of Kate. Derek nods along as Stiles continues to chatter barely able to keep up with the sudden changes of conversation.

     When Derek excuses himself to go to the bathroom he is startled to see how empty the place has become. The bar staff have dwindled down to two, a bored looking red-head, apparently a fellow student of Stiles, mans the bar whilst a lanky male collects glasses. A gaggle of drunken youths remain giggling crowded around a table by the front, otherwise the place is deserted. As he makes his way to the cloakroom he regrets leaving his jacket on the chair. It's late, far too late. Kate would have arrived at the penthouse hours ago. His hands shake slightly as he washes them, he needs to brush off Stiles. Yet when he returns Stiles is gone. The seat he occupied rests at an angle, his straw lays abandoned on Derek's side of the table as if the other had flung it in haste. Perhaps using the only opening Derek gave him all night to leave. Derek lingers a moment too long at the table as he obtains his jacket, the woman behind the bar lets out a huff of frustration and he remembers he has somewhere to be.

      Once he finally locates a subway station he realises he's made his way up to North Bronx. The area polar opposite to his extravagant metropolitan own. He can picture Kate's sneer in the back of his mind as watches the approaching train and fantasizes about the finality of jumping onto the tracks. The squeal of brakes snatch him back, he needs to focus. If he pays attention he can be back in Manhattan in half an hour. His phone currently reads quarter to one, on second thoughts perhaps it would be safer not to go back at all. Kate was bound to be suspicious of his sober state. On previous years he's returned a mess, haunted eyes, pale face, her lips curling up in pleasure at the sight. His heightening nerves ensure that he gets lost twice meaning he is shaking violently when he reaches his district and enters the freeze of late night.

      His phone reads half two when he eventually arrives at the penthouse which lights are all off. Kate's coat has appeared on the hook and her shoes are now filed neatly on the rack. Nothing else suggests anything been used since this morning. He stands for a moment in the entryway, attempting to get a collar on his breathing. She's asleep, she has to be. Squeezing his eyes tight he meditates on that thought. Pulse under control he silently undresses and places his bundle of clothes in the laundry room. Next he makes his way towards the bedroom, hand hesitating on the door handle before easing it open. To his relief Kate is turned away from the door. Her heartbeat is slow, her chest raising and falling in her sleep. He can't remember the last time he saw her like this. Wonders what other husbands think when they catch their wives so vulnerable, so human. Carefully he climbs in next to her and rolls into position. When the clock on the bedside table reaches six o'clock he has yet to have shut his eyes.

 

    The day seems to race ahead of Derek. His morning run feels more like a sprint and traversing through three extra blocks adds no extra to his usual time. In the blink of an eye of arriving at work it's gone from his half eight start to lunch. His work colleagues jostle him out the door, insisting he needs a break. Regardless of the chill he gives them the slip to venture outside, hoping that the solitude will drag out his rest hour. It doesn't. He returns to his desk and the next time he looks up the office is empty. Alicia gives him a look from across the room, a black bin bag in one gloved hand.

    “It's gone six Derek, go home,”

     He glances back at his desk. His uncluttered, organised desk with all the outgoing mail correctly stamped for tomorrow's drop off. He makes a vague gesture towards Alicia and readies an excuse but she cuts him off.

     “Your shift finished an hour ago. I have a night class at seven so move your ass so that I can finish cleaning,”

    He nods and gathers his things.

    "Your the boss,”

    “I certainly will be at this rate,” she smiles at him “Take care Derek,”

     Her warmth draws movement from his own lips, a small natural smile unlike the grimaces he wears for display. Granting her a half wave he heads for the door. Outside his thoughts start to manifest, what time had Alicia said, six?, gone six. Kate was never back before seven. He could get to the apartment for half six, dinner on the table for seven, perhaps that would appease her. She could smash the plate on the floor. She could throw it at him. Would that be enough? No of course it wouldn't, he'd had a whole week of peace. She would demand retribution. He rubs his eyes trying in vain to gather he thoughts, why had he tried to win? He could never match her.

     Hands twitching he fumbles for his phone, as if checking the time would grant him more. Whilst his eyes glaze over the screen it vibrates. A message pops up, sender: Stiles The Awesome Bar Dude and Derek is stilled. Stiles? The man from last night, of course but Derek doesn't recall swapping numbers. Last night has transformed into a blur of soft brown eyes and jovial talk with Kate on the forefront of his mind. He stares at the phone momentarily in confusion before clicking read message.

    _Hey Derek, as punishment for not asking me for my number you're taking me out to dinner. Meet me @ Bills, West 13 St in 10!_

     He's taken aback by the abruptness of the message. There is no pretence of formalities, Stiles simply gets to the point. Derek should ignore the message and carry on. He should go back, wait for Kate. He needs to stop putting of the confrontation. Each hour that passes allows Kate's grudge to fester and grow. He considers the message once more. The phone glows in his hand, a beacon of light in the wake of the upcoming void. For once he has a choice. He has an alternative. For once there is someone waiting for him, someone other than Kate. He slips the phone back in his pocket and carries on his way.

   

     If Stiles is shocked to see him he hides it quickly with a wide grin. He's sprawled across one side of a booth by the front window, a menu discarded in front of him. When Derek catches sight of him over the waitress' shoulder he manically gestures for him to come over.

      “Dude! You came, man am I glad cause I am broke,” he exclaims dragging out the last word.

      The same waitress shoots him a look and turns her attention to Derek, “Can I get you something to drink whilst you browse the menu?”

      “Nope,” Stiles butts in without giving Derek a chance, “We're good to order, we'll get two Bills burgers, a side of cheese fries, two cokes” he pauses side-eyeing Derek “wait, no, one coke and one mineral water,”

     “Still or sparkling?”

     “Still,” replies Stiles, smirking at Derek's flabbergasted expression.

     “I'll be back with your drinks in a minute,” the waitress informs them grabbing the menus and stalking off to the kitchen.

     “You seem like a health conscious water person,” Stiles tells Derek, answering the question he hadn't yet asked.

     “Health conscious enough to eat cheese fries?”

     “Extra protein dude, come on have you seen your muscles?” Stiles hands wave frantically up and down in Derek's general direction.

      Derek lets out a huff of amusement. Stiles holds back nothing, a rare attribute in Derek's life. The waitress returns. She plonks there drinks in front of them and Stiles practically dives at his, attacking the straw once more as he begins to talk.

      “So I had a standing engagement with my friend Lydia, who is loaded, her parent's are seriously rich, like we vacation on our yacht in Europe rich. Anyway we meet up once a month for dinner, you know, we're pretty close, I used to have the biggest crush on her until, well I realised I was more into guys. Still she goes to Princeton, which is currently ranking number one for a maths degree which is what she's studying, dude she's like a machine with numbers, so she drives up to see me and feed me, her precious underling. However she got crazy busy and had to cancel last minute, because she's saving the world with her mind or something, so I'd thought I'd give you a call, well a text, see if you were free. You were free right?,”

     Derek holds Stiles gaze for a moment when he realises he's supposed to answer.

     “I was free,”

      Stiles leans forward hunching over his glass capturing the straw with his lips, a “really” is muffled by the coke. Derek nods and Stiles grins releasing the straw and flopping back against the booth.

      “So Derek, what do you do, I mean other than escort university students?”

      “I'm a mail room clerk,”

      Stiles lets out a laugh, it's loud and real and gains a glare from the increasingly irritated waitress.

      “Wait, seriously?, I mean, no offence but you don't look like a clerk,”

      “What do I look like then?” Derek asks curious taking a sip of his water.

      “Oh, I dunno, a lawyer perhaps, or a cop, or a underwear model,” Derek chokes on his drink which earns him another broad grin from Stiles. “Ah you're one of those you don't know your beautiful girls aren't you?”

     Derek is unsure how to reply but it doesn't deter Stiles, “Oh my god that was a one direction reference, seriously how old are you?” he whips out his straw and points it accusingly at Derek.

     “Twenty-five,”

      “You should frown less, I'm nineteen” he adds holding Derek's gaze, daring him to challenge it, Derek says nothing so Stiles returns his straw to his drink. It flops lifelessly against the glass. In the lull of conversation that follows the food arrives and Stiles is silenced as he attempts to cram the whole burger into his mouth at once. Derek is both disgusted and endeared. A few mouthfuls seem to appease Stiles and he begins to talk once more about everything and anything whilst simultaneously chewing on fries. Again Derek rarely speaks but Stiles seems content for him just to listen.

      “So you see coming out to my dad was pretty mundane so I decided to have some fun with Scott. I serenaded him from underneath his bedroom window, declaring that he had awoken a fire in my loins, a secret desire I could only now understand. He went redder than the time this girl Sophie, his ex, she was sweet in a verging on creepy way, told him she thought he was cute. Then when he found out I didn't really think of him as anything more than a brother, cause come on it's Scott, like uh, no let's not go there, he was so hurt he refused to speak to me for a week. I had to break into his house to get him to forgive me, and he tried to hit me, so we were wrestling in his bed, when his mum walks in, and her expression, almost as priceless as Scott's. So I stand up and say run Melissa, that's his mum's name, I'm infectious, and Scott, dear, Scott, screams what, no I don't want to be gay!,”

     Derek can't help it, he erupts into laughter. Real, pure shoulder shaking laughter that leaves him choking for breath. As the hilarity of the scene fades from his mind he comes to a realisation, he can't remember the last time he laughed like this. The last time he felt relaxed enough to let go and just enjoy the moment. He's never laughed in New York, not once in nine years. He must have laughed though, with Laura, if not after then defiantly before, right? His mind struggles to find the memory. His chuckles die down, their replaced with wheezy breaths, why can't he remember laughing? His mum loved to laugh, she did it all the time, surely he has some recollection? His breaths get shorter. Faster. There must have been an occasion, all together as a family, Uncle Peter's snide comments. Nothing comes to mind. His chest begins to tighten and suddenly he's aware of Stiles by his side. Not touching. Simply talking.

     “Derek, hey Derek, yeah that's it, I need you to stay focused on me okay. Watch my lips yeah? Now your going to copy what I do,”

     He inhales deeply, then slowly exhales. Derek watches him as he repeats the motion over and over. Observing the way Stiles raises and falls with each breath. Slowly his thoughts begin to calm. He notices gold flecks dotted in the chocolate of Stiles eyes. His hands uncurl from his sides and Stiles smiles, “Come on let's get out of here,”

      Derek yanks two twenties out of his wallet, it's too much but he doesn't care, he wants out. Everything is suddenly too bright, the noise grating on his jagged nerves. Stiles eyes widens at the money yet refrains from commenting. Together they set out into the street, the blast of icy air is comforting after the heat of the diner. After a few blocks Stiles piques up “I used to get panic attacks all the time. After my mum died.”

      Derek glances other, Stiles is by his side but his eyes face straight ahead, “She had cancer. Wasn't so treatable back then and the doctors caught it late,” He pauses but Derek doesn't push, “There was this one day, I must have been eight, it was raining outside and she had a doctors appointment. It was a check-up or something but I didn't want her to go. She always came back from the hospital so tired, you know, I hated it, I hated that she had to go there. So I hid. I hid in the garden, there was this sort of den I made in in gap in the bushes that no-one knew about. She was out there for ages looking for me, all the while it was pouring it down, she didn't have a coat on because she rushed out. When my dad came home I came out of my spot, he told me off for worrying my mum but she said that it was okay. Asked me why I hid and I told her I didn't want her to leave me. So she took me upstairs, ran me a bath, made me hot chocolate,” A small smile ghosts across his face, “Told me she wouldn't go. My dad told her she should, despite about how late it was but she said no I want to stay here with my boys. The next day she wouldn't wake up, she was rushed to hospital but there was nothing they could do. They could make her comfortable,”

     Derek pretends he doesn't see the tears rolling down Stiles cheeks. Unsure he shifts slightly towards the other and presses his hand against Stiles. It rests there causally, the connect a shock to Derek not used to the closeness, wary of his actions. Stiles chooses not to move away instead he continues “I blamed myself for so long about her death. Years, the school made me go to a therapist, my high school life was so messed up,” he chuckles shaking his head, then is still once more “It didn't matter though, that I hid. She was dying, I didn't speed it up, even if she had made that appointment there would have been no miracle cure. She was always going to die. The guilt helped me understand her death, but really it had nothing to do with me.”

     “Of course it didn't,” Derek speaks with conviction startling Stiles out of his revive. He smiles softly glancing down at the hand resting beside his own.

     “I know, now. It took me a long time to figure it out though,” he checks his phone and lets out a low whistle, “I have to go, I have a paper I should have done a week ago,” he shifts restlessly “Call me okay,”

     “Okay,” Derek says automatically.

     “Promise?”

     Derek looks down at the bright eyes almost level with his own.

    “I promise.”

    He watches Stiles merge into the crowds then heads off to the subway. He's filled with an unnatural calm, let Kate do as she pleases, he doesn't care. After yesterday there is nothing left she can do to hurt him. He has nothing more for her to take. She's sat at the table as he walks in, papers piled beside her, eyes glued to her laptop screen. He goes directly to the bedroom and no comment follows him. Part of him suspects she did not even notice him enter. For a moment he waits, waits for the attack, the insults of his family whispered loud enough for him to hear. Nothing. He lies there in the dark, considering sleep, perhaps Kate too has grown too tired to care.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This chapter took some work, next update is on 1st November (GMT), please leave your thoughts I love to know what you guys think :)
> 
> Update: Unfortunatly due to being understaffed at work I'm going to have to postpone this weeks chapther.

     The following lunchtime Derek sits amongst his co-workers holding his phone in his lap, absent-mindedly flipping it from hand to hand, oblivious to the noise surrounding him. He gathers that they're talking about baseball from the snatches of conversation he overhears. He doesn't join in, he wouldn't know any of the players, he hasn't watched a game in years. Baseball was his dad's sport. He was a fanatic of the Giants and never missed a match. His passion for the sport was infectious. Derek loved accompanying him, much to his mothers delight who confessed to her crestfallen husband that she'd only held an interest in the game to get to know him. Laura had stopped joining in during her teens when she decided that boys and friends were more deserving of her time. Uncle Peter turned his nose up at all sports whilst his wife, Derek's Aunt Ana stated that she couldn't get her head around American games. Peter teased that it was because she kept confusing football with soccer to which she would simply shake her head laughing. It was their time together, just him and dad. Watching replays when dad arrived late from work or driving up to city when he managed to get a day off. The rush of being part of the crowd, the familiar smells of the ball park, neither of them could get enough of it. Yet when Kate arrived on the scene even Derek refused to go. He regrets that now. In his heart of hearts he knows he couldn't have stopped Kate, she would have always gotten to him. However he could have spent more time with his family. Attended those last few games of the season, stayed in to keep a very pregnant Ana company, sat with the rest of the pack on film nights instead of brooding in his room. Appreciated the little time he had left with them.

     A sudden burst of laughter disrupts him from his thoughts. Judging by the face of their newest team member a long-standing prank has finally been uncovered, the initiation to the mail room. Derek turns his attention back to his phone. Stiles made him promise to call but when? He himself had text Derek the very next day however surely noon was too early? Maybe he should leave it till after work? He thumbs a button so that the screen lights up, ten minutes left before the afternoon shift. The others are getting up around him and clearing away. He'd be alone. An ideal time for a call rather than trying to talk over the noise of business crowds or worse back at the penthouse, one eye on the door awaiting the return of Kate. He switches his phone to one hand. Thinks of the last two nights, thinks of all the nights before that. Stiles name appears on his contact lists and he hits dial.

      “You called,” Stiles voice beams into Derek's ear.

      “I did,”

      There's a pause, followed by a chuckle on Stiles end, “Right Derek, this is the part where you ask, Stiles, are you free on Saturday?,”

      “Stiles are you free on Saturday?,” Derek asks obediently.

      “Why yes I am, oh that's good to hear Stiles because there is an exhibition at the Met that I am just dying to see and I wonder if would be good enough as to grant me the pleasure of your company,”

      “I don't talk like that,” muses Derek.

      “You don't talk,” replies Stiles “You're a man a few words, you must be saving up some pretty profound quotes, like the wise janitor or the silent type in animé, is half ten good?”

      “Sure,” Derek's certain Kate has a conference this weekend, seen reference to it on her notes so she won't be there to keep tabs on him, “Where do you want to meet?,”

      “Met Steps? Ow, Chrissie, yeah fine, I'm hanging up now, Derek I gotta go my class is starting, see you Sat?,”

      “See you Saturday,”

      Stiles hangs up and Derek returns to work unable to keep the smile off his face which earns him a few funny looks as he sits down.

 

     Derek wakes on Saturday morning to an empty flat. Kate departed late last night, he kept out of the bedroom whilst she packed and she fixed him with a glare as she left. During the first year of their marriage she would sedate him on her working weekends. Leave him for the full forty-eight hours trapped in the penthouse, gagging for breath, claws dug deep into his skin in a struggle to remain conscious. He wouldn't have run. How could he have done whilst Laura's freedom was so fragile, so easily taken away. As the years passed her grip on him began to relax. She didn't need to poison him any more, knew he was too pathetic to escape, too coward. Besides there was no where for him to run too. He omits his morning run in favour of the gym, he hasn't been there as often as he usually would this week. It's his only haunt outside of work and the flat. In all of New York this little concrete block of sweat and determination is his salvation. Here he can work it all off, the stress, the anxiety, the deep-seated loathing for his wife but most importantly it allows him to forget the guilt. For a few precious hours he can push his body hard enough to detach. Derek Hale becomes someone else, a perfect stranger he knows nothing about until the cold spray of the shower forces him back, panting at the weight of the rebirth. This morning though the return feels lighter.

      He arrives at the Met an hour too early. The sun is meek, veiled between the clouds and the morning chill has yet to lift. Already eager tourists mill around the entrance, an exasperated teacher struggles to get a group of students to line up. They're too busy talking and looking around to pay attention, excited to be in the city. He perches upon a step a distance away from the gathering crowds. Watches in amusement as the teacher gives up and lights a cigarette leaving the teenagers be. Ten minutes later a bleary eyed Stiles appears, coffee clutched in one hand, pastry hanging from his mouth. His hair is dishevelled, whether from sleep or gel Derek can't decipher and a bag hangs low bumping against his knee as he walks. He clocks Derek immediately, face transforming into a huge grin as he wanders over.

 “Dude!,” he mumbles through the croissant before tearing it away from his mouth with his free hand, “You certainly are peachy keen,”

      “I could say the same about you,” Derek smirks.

      “Of course, it's the freaking Met,” Stiles gesticulates to the building behind them in case Derek had yet to spot it, “I would live here if Frank hadn't threatened to escort me off the premises,”

      “Frank?,”

      “The night guard,” answers Stiles rummaging through his bag, coffee cup balanced dangerously in the crook of his arm.

      “How do you – never mind,” Derek would rather not know if Stiles should actually be visiting the Met, the man in question beams up at him and hands him a flyer.

      “This exhibit has just come over from London, Shunga, it looks awesome, it's Ancient Japanese erotica,” Stiles informs Derek whose eyebrows shoot up “ Relax, if you look at porn in a museum it's called being cultured rather than perverse, oh look they're opening come on,”

      Stiles goes to grab Derek's wrist and he flinches. Without thinking, instinctively, he flinches. A look of hurt flashes across Stiles face quickly masked by an overly reassuring smile. Derek opens his mouth to speak but Stiles is moving forward. Derek follows suit, silent, unable to explain. Unable to understand his own actions. This is Stiles. Open, honest, talkative Stiles. Stiles who didn't mock his panic attack, Stiles who wants to be near him. Wants to touch him. Yet somehow when he had leaned towards him all he could see was Kate.

     They don't speak in the line, Stiles being careful to give Derek his space. It's strange. Standing for so long beside Stiles and not hearing him speak. Not watching him move with an uncontrollable energy. It's as if he has become someone else, a perfect stranger. However once they reach the exhibit Stiles is back, enthusiastic in explaining the paintings to him. Making reference to the art's origins and how certain pieces have inspired pop culture. Derek is impressed by his knowledge of the subject. He wouldn't have put Stiles down as the art type, figuring him to be a stay at home with video games person like the typical male college student. Stiles though has the uncanny ability to constantly surprise him. He's fascinated by the way in which Stiles is so passionate about everything he does. It's been a long time since Derek has truly cared about anything.

      “So what do you think?,” Stiles asks nodding towards a explicit print of an amorous couple.

      “I feel a little inadequate,” Derek replies eyeing the impressive member of the man, Stiles follows his gaze and cracks up.

      “I get the impression they were compensating for something, Shunga was a taboo in Japan for a century, I bet they did art because they couldn't get laid,”

      “See I go to the gym instead,” Derek says without thinking, Stiles eyes widen.

      “Dude, did you just make a joke?,”

      “Er,” Derek flusters feeling his cheeks heating up, he doesn't know why he said it, jokes have never been his thing, he just wanted to get Stiles to laugh again.

      “Glad to know there's a sense of humour being those serious brows,” Stiles beams and Derek relaxes.

      From that moment on it's as if the air has shifted. The slight undercurrent of tension finally dispersing. Stiles moves closer, acting like a rubber band, one moment right beside Derek, the following, racing towards the next painting. When they leave the exhibit Derek spots the same exasperated teacher from outside lining up his group ready to go in. He leans into Stiles and whispers,

      “You think he knows what the exhibit is about?,” Stiles glances over his shoulder, a sly grin on his lips.

      “He has no idea, I wish I could see his face when he gets in there,”

      Derek chuckles.

      “Time to roll dude, I'm starved, lets eat,”

 

     They head out to a cheap sandwich bar a few streets down, neither wanting to pay for the overpriced, mass produced “food” served at the museum. Derek pays the bill whilst pretending to go to the toilet. Stiles sulks when he realises he's been tricked but thanks him anyway. After they return once more to the museum, joking immaturely at the nude sculptures, Stiles occasionally sprouting random facts to accompany a piece. It's a slow, easy pace. In time the day crowds begin to thin and they find themselves walking through the galleries alone. At seven Stiles stomach lets out a whine of protest which echoes loudly in the empty room.

      “You totally did not hear that,” Stiles flushes a deep crimson, Derek can't help but smile.

      “Hear what?,” he asks innocently.

      “Cute, real cute, look before we get out of here,” he shifts from foot to foot, “Can we just, there's just a painting a want to see real quick, okay?”

      “I'm in no rush,” Derek shrugs, “It's not my stomach trying to eat itself,”

      “Rude,” pouts Stiles, thoughtlessly going for Derek's wrist a second time, he freezes inches away from him suddenly remembering that morning. However before he can bolt ahead, Derek moves his hand upwards. His wrist grazes Stiles fingers and with a tiny smile they grab him, dragging him to the the far side of the museum.

     They enter the European wing. It's littered with stately portraits gazing down on them as they past and the feeling of being watched makes Derek uneasy. However the warm weight of Stiles hand on his own is comforting. Silently they walk the length of the room, Stiles not even glancing at the portraits. He's focused on a singular painting and makes a beeline for it. A woman, face half turned away, eyes crinkled and mouth open as if she had been caught laughing. Stiles comes to a stop before it. His grasp on Derek's wrist loosens and slips down towards his hand, their fingers entwine. For a few moments they say nothing, both staring up at the painting.

      “I love this painting,” Stiles speaks softly, breaking the silence.

      “She reminds you of your mum,”

      “Ah,” Stiles tenses, twisting his head to look at Derek who keeps his own gazed trained on the picture, he feels the other relax as he continues to speak, “Yeah she does, I used to think that she could have been my mum's ancestor, painting's Dutch though, she was polish, and she had brown eyes like me. Lots of these period portraits have blue eyes, because their rarer people mistake them for being more beautiful,”

      “Kind people have brown eyes,”

      “Is that so?,”

      “My Aunt Ana had brown eyes, she was the kindest person I've ever known,”

      “Was?,”

      “She died a long time ago,” Derek finally turns away from the painting to look at Stiles. The words were difficult to get out but he feels strangely lifted. Stiles squeezes his hand, “I still miss her everyday,”

      “She's happy to know you love her so much,”

      Derek nods and they return their focus on the painting when Stiles neglected stomach let's out a growl Derek would be proud off.

      “Oh my god!,” exclaims Stiles angrily gesturing at his tummy, “way to ruin the moment,”

      Derek laughs at the spectacle, “I think we best get you something to eat before some kind of monster rips itself out of there,”

 

     Stiles directs them to a student joint advertising Japanese cuisine. The exterior is shabby but inside it's warm and welcoming with delicious combinations of smells bombarding him from every angle. The place is crammed. filled with youths bent over bowls of ramen, nosily chattering to one another. Stiles waves vaguely at a group on the other-side of the restaurant but makes no notion to join them, instead drags Derek into a more secluded spot. They find a table on the back wall surrounded by couples. It's a little quieter here and Derek is grateful. He's not used to spending so much time with other people, other than for work or the gym Derek spends the majority of his time in the penthouse. He never was a people person. He took after Peter in that respect, preferring a select circle of companions to a large database of acquaintances. 'The Lone Wolf' Laura would mock, on her way out to yet another party.

      “Sit,” commands Stiles pushing Derek into a seat, “I'll go order, you're not ninjaing your way into paying this time,”

      Derek raises his eyebrows at him, “Don't act cute, you know what I'm talking about, now stay,”

      Stiles wanders over to the bar, forced to lean over the desk in order to be heard. He soon has two drinks in hand and is making his way back, precariously manoeuvring through the labyrinth of chairs. He's stopped mid journey by a stocky guy on his way from the bathroom. They chat for a few moments looking over a Derek, who quickly turns away at sight of Stiles grin.

      “Michael wants to know how I can afford to hire you when I was too broke to buy beer last week,” Stiles tells him as he puts a mineral water in front of him.

      Derek narrows his eyes at the other causing Stiles to laugh once more.

      They lapse into easy conversation, Stiles informing Derek of his friends whom they passed on their way in. Derek is amazed how quickly Stiles is opening up his world to him. He's also amazed that he told Stiles about Ana, he hasn't talked about her since her death, not even to Laura. Laura had always wanted to talk about their family. She would make reference to memories, special occasions, they way dad would do this, remember how mum would say? Each word a dagger in Derek's heart, reminding him of how much they lost. He would close up whenever Laura started talking about them and so she stopped. Now he can't believe how selfish he had been. As much as he couldn't bear to talk, it must have been a life line to Laura, yet another thing he took away from her.

      “You okay?,” Stiles is watching him, concern clear in his deep brown eyes. For a moment he feels like Aunt Ana is staring at him. She had always been his favourite, always knew almost instinctively when he was upset. Could tell when he needed to talk and when he just needed her there, a warm presence beside him.

     “Yeah,” his voice is rough, “Just thinking,”

      Stiles leans back, his eyes study Derek's face knowingly but he doesn't press.

      “Ready to go?,” he asks instead.

      “Yeah,”

      The streets are bustling with late night shoppers heading into restaurants and revellers making their way into bars. They stick close to one another, in part due to the cold but also to remain together as they navigate through the increasing crowds. A subway stop looms up ahead shortly and Stiles leads them to it. He skirts around the entrance, hovering out of the way of the swarms coming up and down the steps. His hands twitching and twisting into one another.

 “I had fun today, with you, it was, I mean thanks, thanks for coming,” he garbles out in a haste, bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. Derek grants him a small smile in reply.

      “I'm going to kiss you now,” Stiles declares suddenly, “there's your warning, feel free to move,”

      In one swift movement he's right up into Derek's personal space, titling his head upwards to bridge the small distance between their height. There's a soft chaste press on his lips before Derek can even close his eyes and then Stiles is moving backwards. Lips tingling, heart pounding in a way he can't describe Derek is moving forward, following Stiles and their lips connect once more. It's slower this time. Stiles mouth moves in sync with his, his heart jack-hammering in Derek's ears. Derek's eyes droop shut as the sensation takes him over. He's never been kissed like this, his nerves raw, his stomach wanting to vomit with the intensity. It never felt like this with Kate. Never felt so real, so right. Unwillingly they slowly pull apart. Both blinking foolishly at each other.

      “Wow,” exhales Stiles, “We should defiantly do more of that, I mean, not now, we're in the middle of the street, but soon. If you want to. Though I reckon you do, unless you kiss everyone like this, you know what? Ruining the moment. I am ruining the moment, again, twice in one day. So,” he points behind him, “I'm gonna go, go home, to where I live, see you soon?,”

      “See you soon Stiles,”

      Stiles whole face lights up, eyes twinkling in a way that he has not smiled before, causing Derek's heart to rush once more into a frenzy. He gives Derek a half wave and then he's gone. Derek left grinning like a lunatic in midst of rushing New Yorkers.


	4. Chapter 4

     Kate returns late on Sunday night. Derek is already in bed when he hears her come in and slams her bag onto the kitchen table. Her breathing is short, harsh. There's the sounds of doors being wrenched open followed by several loud crashes as things are smashed to the ground. Derek's stomach begins to knot in response, his body tenses as he silently prays Kate won't enter the room. Let her destroy the kitchen instead. He has no possessions remaining from her previous rages and they have plenty of money to replace what she breaks. He doesn't how much it costs as long as she stays on the other side of that door. A grunt of frustration causes him to flinch. Yet nothing comes. A chair is dragged out across the tiles and Kate's breathing begins to even. Her heartbeat slowing to a less dangerous beat. By the time she enters the bedroom he has relaxed enough to convincingly feign sleep.

 

     The texts start arriving when Derek is crouched on the kitchen floor carefully sweeping up the aftermath of Kate's anger. His phone vibrates against a glass causing a eerie chime to distract him from his task and stand up. He's greeted by a picture of Stiles pouting blearily with the caption _9am lectures are the absolute worst_. Derek smirks, pockets the phone and picks up the dust pan and brush once more. The second text arrives as he's on the subway. Stiles is on his hands and knees in front of a coffee cup _my saviour!_ written below the snapshot. His phone buzzes three times whilst he's at work but mornings mean delivering mail around the offices so he ignores them. At lunch he is greeted by photo's of Stiles looking dangerously hyper, a selfi with a brunette who looks like she wants to punch him and another pouting Stiles this time accompanied with _are you ignoring me?_

      Derek can't help but smirk as he types _No, some of us work,_ there's only a spilt second after his message is sent when his phone starts buzzing with an incoming text;

      _That's why pocket-texting was invented._

       _Pocket what?_

       _Oh my god I forget you were born in the 80's, pocket-texting like a pocket dial you dinosaur!_

       _Rather a dinosaur than a failing student who won't get anywhere in life as he didn't pay attention in class._

       _Said the mail clerk._

       _Touché._

       _I have a late class tonight come pick me up after it._

      Derek's smile falters. The mood Kate was in last night has not gone away nor will it any-time soon. Under her grin it will fester. With every polite conversation it will grow, with every false gesture it will escalate. He can't afford to return to the penthouse after her. Two late nights last week may have been tolerated but anything more will push her boundaries. He needs to be waiting for her. He needs to be quiet and submissive because then maybe, just maybe she'll be gentle with him.

      _I can't._

      His fingers shake as he types the words. If he had a choice in the matter he wouldn't go back to her tonight. Wouldn't go back to her ever.

      _Ok_ is the reply _but next time you have to say yes._

      _Deal._

      Stiles is silent after that which is a relief to Derek. His head is pounding with the thought of tonight. There's no more running, no more distractions, he has to face her. He doesn't want to. Curses himself for dragging this out. If only he had just given her what she wanted, shredded the sideboard, allow her to take the only thing he had left. She would have revelled in his humiliation. It would already be over. His mind churns the entire afternoon, his phone remains still. Five o'clock comes too soon and yet tortuously slow. He simply wants it out and done with. What should he cook? Her favourite? Caramelised red onion and goat cheese tart appeases her sometimes though it's always a risk. There are times when she sees the food laid out on the table and a small secret smile appears on her lips. An expression so out of place it was as if it belonged to another time. In a real dining room, surrounded by family. Then she looks up and remembers him. The realisation of their fucked situation becomes apparent on her features. On those occasions the meal ends up over him. He won't risk it tonight. She's livid, nothing he can do will change that fact. Best to play it safe.

     He stops at the over priced supermarket a block from the apartment. It's smug self satisfaction creates a pungent atmosphere with displays advertising new eating trends not for mere mortals. Derek snorts as he passes a juicing demonstration. Replace your meals with a drink which costs twice as much. Kate laps this crap up, keeping up with the in crowd like a high school-er desperate to fit in. He doesn't dawdle, he grabs only what he needs. Other than bottles of mineral water and protein shakes the fridge remains empty, anything other than cold and sterile wouldn't match the décor of the apartment.

     He's back at the apartment by quarter to six. At six the prep is done. Half past the table is laid, her chair has its back to the front door, he can never see it from his seat when their eating. At ten to seven the food is ready, he turns off the hobs, plates up with precision. At seven the plates are in place. Five past the door clicks open. He waits, neck bared and eyes trained on the meal in front of him. He listens to her movements in nervous anticipation. Hands flat on his lap in a desperate attempt to conceal the tremors which run through them. She's calm, collected. She goes through her usual after work routine with a nonchalant air. Slides off her jacket and leaves it on the back of her chair. Rolls up her selves to wash her hands. Then she's sitting opposite him and moves forward to take up her knife and fork. The plate remains firmly on the table. She begins to eat and his heart pounds painfully against his ribcage. Twitching hands lifting away from his lap to his own cutlery. This it, this is the moment, the instant his fork touches his lips she'll attack. She's given him his illusion now she'll take it away. His lips force open to take the food, his eyes clench shut and, nothing. Nothing happens. He flicks his gaze to her momentarily. She continues eating. He doesn't understand. He knows her pattern now, knows the swings of her mood, why hasn't she lashed out at him yet? Why can't she just get this over with? He swallows a few more mouthfuls before he can actually taste anything, warily eyeing Kate now and again waiting for a reaction. It doesn't come, she continues to eat in silence.

     Dinner is finished. Kate moves to the lounge, she turns the television on to a channel which airs the spoilt lifestyles of self-absorbed twenty-somethings abusing the bank of mum and dad. She props her feet up on a leather poof and uncaps a bottle of dark red nail varnish. The smell lingers into the kitchen where Derek is removing all evidence of the dinner. Dishes washed, dried, carefully put back in place. Bin emptied and sides wiped down. Floor swept. Not a crumb to be found, the way Kate likes it. He turns off the light and joins her in the sofa's accompanying chair. If he exits to the bedroom like he wants to she'll seek him out and it will be worse than it is already.. She's moved on to painting her fingers now, her face set in concentration as she applies perfect layers. He turns to face the television, lets himself be lost in the senseless drivel. The back of the mind still waiting. Perhaps, a quiet thought begins to whisper, perhaps these last couple of weeks haven't been a set up, perhaps she's sick of the games. It has been four years even Kate can't last out forever. He sinks deeper into the seat, his muscles loosening. If she wanted to hurt him she would have done it by now. His senses dull at that thought and he is only acutely aware of the sharp snap as Kate closes her nail varnish once more. He doesn't have time to react as out of nowhere a stinging pain erupts in his cheek.

     He glances up in time to see Kate deliver a slap to is other cheek, nails out like claws. Five deep scratches rip across his face causing him to howl in agony. He drops to the floor, bringing his knees up to his stomach in defence, dropping his head down to be covered between his arms. She sinks her nails into one of his wrists and he flinches outwards leaving his stomach open. She delivers a kick to the thin layer of skin visible from the struggle. The blow winds him. Hot fire crawling through his gut causing him to choke. She drops his arm and steps back. Surveys him as he lies limp on the floor, cuts oozing with blood, breath ragged.

      “Impressive,” she mummers to herself, crouching down and trailing one of the marks with her finger. She flips it around and runs the nail along his skin “Shame the wolfs-bane has no effect once the polish is dry,”

     She stands up and is gone. He's not sure how long he lies there playing dead. He hears her fingers taping away at her laptop keys, hears the bedroom door close shut. The television continues to buzz in the background but he doesn't take it in. His mind is detached, absent from his wounded body. Motionless on the floor he contemplates never getting up. His cuts are healing abide slowly but he could prevent them from healing at all. How long would it take to bleed to death? Too long, Kate would halt the process when she awoke. He could try the window, they were high up, ninth floor, high enough? He doesn't want to stand up though, he simply wants to melt into the floor. Just somehow not exist any-more. Or better to have never existed, become a mere hiccup in time and space, easily forgotten. After a while though his body registers the throbbing in his veins as the cuts finally seal up. He rolls onto his stomach wincing as he puts pressure on his bloodied belly then shifts his arms to his sides. Locking his elbows and bracing himself he carefully lifts up, biting through the pain as he gets to his feet. It takes a moment for him to steady himself. He rotates towards the bedroom, steeling himself to lay down next to her. His hand finds his way to his pocket and clutches tightly onto his phone. He checks it unconsciously, the new message light beaming up at him. He hadn't even noticed it go off. He taps it open and there's a picture of Stiles faking angelic sleep with the caption _dreaming of you_. His smile causes his cheeks to protest with the strain. He pockets the phone and enters the bedroom.

 

     There are many ways to distinguish between New Yorkers and tourists on the subway. New Yorkers never look in the direction they are travelling, they sit or stand with book in hand and get off at the correct stop automatically. Tourists on the other-hand spend the entire journey twisting their necks to re-check the stop map and straining to hear the tannoid announcing each destination. They also have a tendency to knock into several people on every journey whilst New Yorkers remain perfectly balanced without even holding on to the handrails. One other way to distinguish between the two is whereas tourists down-right stare at guys like Derek with a face full of inflamed red marks, New Yorkers will simply glance and look away. The image not even registering in their minds.

     None of his colleagues greet him that morning. They avert their gaze as he walks to his desk, used to this sight and still unsure how to act. The first time he had shown up with a black eye one of his co-workers had joked “You should see the other guy, hey Derek?” however when two days later a high shelf revealed more vicious bruises on his lower back the appraisal had stopped. A well built guy like Derek should be able to handle himself right? He used to wonder where they thought he got the bruises from. He had never spoken enough to reveal much about his home situation though they knew he had a partner. As long as they don't bother him he doesn't care what they think. He carries on with work as usual remembering the marks as each person he meets does a double take. After a fidgeting young woman, not even his age struggles to keep her eyes away from his face a superior tasks him work that means he will remain at his desk for the remainder of the day.

     When it reaches lunchtime Derek avoids the canteen. He's had enough of the sudden silences as he passes desks, the questions on everyone's lips. The comments he catches due to this over sensitive ears.

      “Pretty sure he has a wife, never talks about her though, guess you wouldn't if she were, well you know,”

      He exits the building, rounds a corner into the alley and crouches down behind the bins. He folds his head into his arms and tries to lose himself. Tries to detach from the numb buzz that tingles under his wounds. He can't zone out, too wired, too aware of how everyone has been treating him like the elephant in the room. He tugs his phone out of his pocket and trawls through the photo's of Stiles. He focuses on the moles that dot his skin, tries to memorize their position, tries to touch them. As his finger hits the cold screen of his phone he's filled with a sudden need to see the other. A desire he cannot describe and certainly one he has ever felt before. Not like this, with so much intensity. The phone is ringing, pressed against his ear Stiles voice fills his mind.

      “Whoa, are you calling me, dude Scott said playing hard to get never worked,” there's so much warmth in that voice and the hunger in Derek's heart begins to grow.

      “What are you doing right now?”

      “Erm, trying to figure a good enough reason to blow my lecture with the equivalent to god damn Professor Binns who I seriously think has never used a computer in his life! Wait, are you offering me an escape route?”

      “If you want to see me,”

      “Are you oblivious, have you even been on the last three dates with me, were you present, did you not get the photo-texts? Meet me at Bills again then we can go anywhere, Chrissie! Tell Prof Binns I'm vomiting because I ate the meat surprise – well I could of asked you to say I have explosive diarrhoea – how is it TMI if I don't actually have it, what – oh yeah, I managed to get a cover see you soon Derek,”

      Stiles hangs up abruptly and Derek slowly raises to his feet. He leans his head back against the brick wall and lets out a breathe, for the first time in forty-eight hours he feels at ease. A quick check on google maps tells him it will take twenty minutes to walk to Bills. Derek makes it in ten.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to friday updates, yay!

     Stiles pace quickens when he spots Derek leaning against the wall of the diner but slows when he takes in his face. His eyes widen at the scars and comes to a gradual halt in front of him. Suddenly Derek regrets calling him. Why did he think this would be a good idea? How was he going to explain the marks, tell Stiles that he was married? His stomach churns painfully and he turns to go but Stiles' hand stops him. He hasn't taken his eyes off Derek's face, his hand hovers inches from his cheek, hangs there like a question mark. Derek holds his gaze then dips his head down in response. A cool touch is pressed gently against his skin, soothing the fire that has resided there all day. Stiles thumb carefully strokes under Derek's chin and tilts it up to face him once more.

      “Are you okay?,” Stiles' voice cracks with concern. Derek places his own hand over Stiles and holds it against his skin, unable to believe that this guy is actually standing in front of him. Someone who doesn't just turn away, someone who needs to know he's alright and not simply presume, someone whose not afraid.

      “I am now,” he replies softly, terrified of shattering the illusion.

      Stiles lips quirk into a small smile as he lifts his palm from Derek's cheek to grasp instead his hand.

      “You hungry?,”

      Derek nods squeezing the fingers entwined with his own. Stiles twists and leads them down the street towards the subway, the same spot where they had first kissed. Within the darkness of the day Derek's heart begins to flutter remembering the softness of Stiles lips on his own. Stiles glances shyly at him as they head down the steps, a blush clear on his pale cheeks. At the ticket machine Stiles won't let him pay and Derek moves back allowing him to take control. For once it's a relief to have someone else call the shots, someone who wants to take care of him and not manipulate him for their own devices. His cheeks burn at the thought of Kate and he subconsciously steps closer to Stiles. Once on the train Stiles silence is broken and he begins to ramble about his morning classes drumming a steady beat onto the back of Derek's hand. He doesn't take in much of what Stiles is saying but the sound of his voice is soothing, safe. He leans into the younger male and closes his eyes.

      “Hey, wake up sleeping beauty, this is our stop,”

      Derek blinks groggily and is met with Stiles beaming face. He helps him to his feet. Derek cannot believe he fell asleep on the subway of all places, surrounding by noise and the overpowering stench of the city. They resurface into a borough which seems vaguely similar to Derek. As he takes in the well worn buildings, the house spouses out doing the family shop, business suits few and far between he realises this is the place he came on the anniversary of the fire. Slowly it dawns on him.

     “You live in the Bronx?,”

      Stiles gives him a withering look “Duh, I'm a student Derek and the son of a small town sheriff there is no way in hell I could afford to live in Manhattan, besides the Bronx is awesome!”

      As they carry on down the street Derek can't help but notice how far away from New York he feels. The pace is more relaxed, no manic urgency to get to one place to the next in the shortest amount of time possible. Young children trundle alongside prams, clutching on to their parents legs and chattering non-stop. A women stood smoking on the corner of the block offers him a tiny smile of understanding, a dark ring encircling her left eye. No judgement, no pity, just acceptance. They can walk down the street side by side not having to doge for endless crowds. It's still busy, hell this is New York but the atmosphere doesn't share the same intensity. For a brief moment he feels like he's at home in Beacon Hills. His heart yanks painfully at the memory and he clutches Stiles hand tighter.

     Finally they reach the destination Stiles had been heading towards. A shabby apartment block off the high-street. Grey walls raise around five stories high with well tended shrubs lining the entry way, giving life to the bleak building. Stiles taps a code into the keypad on the door and they enter the reception. It's well lit, mailboxes taking up one side, littered with name tags and stickers incomparable to the pristine steel ones of Derek's place. There's no elevator. Stiles literally bounds up the stairs and Derek finds himself breaking into a light jog in order to keep up with him. On the second floor a young girl peeks her head through her door and beams when Stiles wiggles his fingers at her. She giggles and slams the door shut, the sound echoing throughout the building. Stiles began rummaging through his pockets as they ascend to the forth floor pulling out a heavily key-ringed key. Darth Vader smashes against a lacrosse stick and a picture of a teenage Stiles with another boy blowing their cheeks out in a bizarre fashion as he attempts to unlock the door on the far end of the hall.

     The door swings open and Derek is surprised to see a spotlessly tidy flat. A sofa which faces a television linked up to an Xbox takes up most of the room with a breakfast bar separating the tiniest kitchen Derek has ever seen. At the back of the space a curtain has been left flung open revealing a futon in a makeshift bedroom, a haphazard stack of books level with the pillow. Stiles dumps his bag unceremoniously on the floor and gestures to a door around the corner from the kitchen.

      “Bathrooms that way,”

      He continues forward into the bedroom, throws open up the window and climbs through it. He ducks his head back in, gesturing for Derek to follow. Derek clambers onto the fire escape and discovers Stiles talking to the red-headed bar tender.

      “Celia, Derek, Derek, Celia,” Stiles introduces them in a whirl of hand movements “Cee's an art major and my neighbour, Derek is real and you now owe me ten bucks,”

      Celia rolls her eyes and turns towards Derek, there's a quick once over of his face before she says “Nice to see that you're real Derek,”

      “Nice to know I'm real,”

     Celia smirks “Well Stiles now that I know you aren't completely deluded I have to go to class for unlike some people I cannot afford to waste time hooking up,” she glances towards Derek knowingly, “Oh and I popped last night's leftovers in your fridge this morning so I except you to return the favour, see ya Derek,”

      With that the women disappears through her own window leaving them alone on the fire escape.

      “What did she mean by that?,” enquires Derek.

     “What, oh,” Stiles goes scarlet running a hand through his hair, “See Cee, she jumps to conclusions, and she is you know a girl, who er reads romances and she was, well she was teasing and she didn't mean that because I wouldn't, well I would if you were game, but er,”

      “Stiles,” Derek cuts him off bemused, “I meant by returning the favour,”

      “Oh,” Stiles eyes widen with the word and he heads back into his own apartment, “You see Celia works at this diner come bar and whatever they don't sell at the end of the day she gets to take home. Being poor students like we are she shares them with me and in return I cook for her every now and again because Celia literally can burn toast, toast Derek, so she thinks I serve the food of God's,”

      “I'll have to try that sometime,”

      “Oh you will,” Stiles grins “However today you'll have to settle for,” he opens up his fridge and then fist-pumps the air “the best damn soup in New York!”

      Derek rests against the breakfast bar content watching Stiles at work as he turns on the hob, because it is a damn right sin to heat soup this good in a microwave. Stiles plants a glass of orange juice in front of him, vitamins dude and tells him for the umpteenth time to go sit down on the sofa. Derek decides to ignore him. He likes watching Stiles, there's a clumsy grace to him like a dancer who keeps changing the rhythm. Stiles is real and it takes his breath away. The guy in question wiggles his bum in response to Derek's staring so he admits defeat and flops on the sofa. It's threadbare and off colour with a few patches here and there of miss-matched material but Derek sinks deep into the comfort. Not too long after Stiles joins him, soup in hand. Derek takes a spoonful to his lips.

      “Wow,”

      “What did I tell you?,”

      They eat in silence, Stiles flicking the television on to some comedy show that Derek has never seen before. The soups surprisingly filling and warms Derek in a way that reminds him of home. Cooking was always divided up in the Hale house. His mother couldn't make a meal to save her life and Laura had clearly inherited that gene. His dad though would make meaty pies from scratch, heavy, rich foods that would never leave you hungry. Uncle Peter was more of a connoisseur. He'd create mouthwatering delicates from across the world and bizarre combinations that Derek would dread. When Ana got pregnant he joked about using her placenta for a dish, at least Derek hoped it was a joke. Aunt Ana though, she was the best cook. Whenever he had a bad day her comfort food could always cheer him up. If a boy broke Laura's heart there be home-made cake and ice-cream. She always knew, like it was an instinct. Probably the reason why Uncle Peter fell in love with a human. He places the bowl on the floor, a sudden sadness in his heart. Ana's is the death that has plagued him most with guilt, even to a rouge hunter she shouldn't have been a hit. He rolls to the side and places his head in Stiles lap. The man jostles with shock then long fingers begin to card his hair softly. Derek drifts off absorbed in the touch and lets the pain slip away.

     There's a shifting beneath him and Derek bolts upright, wide awake. Stiles is frozen to the spot.

      “Whoa dude, I need the bathroom no need to be so alarmed,”

      “Sorry,” Derek mumbles gruff with sleep.

      “I wonder if I should be offended that you keep falling asleep on me,” Stiles says as he pulls himself off the sofa. Derek sits there blinking for a moment then checks his phone. It reads ten to five. He needs to get back, Kate may be appeased but he still needs to stay in her good books. He's pulling on his jacket when Stiles re-enters the room.

      “Leaving so soon?,”

      “Sorry, I have to go,” Derek replies distractedly looking towards the door.

      “Hey, hey where's the fire?,” Stiles is by his side, hand gracing his arm, “Derek are you sure your okay?,” earnest eyes capture his own and Derek hasn't got it in him to lie. Instead he moves forward pressing a lingering kiss against Stiles lips.

      “Text me,” he says and he heads out the door just catching a barely coherent “uh-uh” in response.

 He makes the return trip in much better time than his last getting to the penthouse at just after half five. He makes a simple dinner, food that will keep in case Kate chooses to eat out and waits. At half eight there's still no sign of her. His phone buzzes making him jump thinking for a moment it's the front door, a message from Stiles greets him instead.

      _I had fun today, you should ring me more often._

     Derek smiles, his heart stirring at the knowledge that Stiles can't spend more than a few hours without contact from him.

      _I rang you because you were playing hard to get remember? It doesn't work if you text me._

       _I can do both._

       _That doesn't make sense._

       _To the mind of a mail clerk perhaps not but to a computer scientist it does._

       _You mean a failing computer sciences student._

       _I'm not failing._

       _Says the one who skipped class._

       _Says the mail clerk._

       _Says the one who uses the same tired comeback._

       _Dammit._

      Derek chuckles out-loud and the sound shocks him in the noiseless apartment. He makes his way to the bedroom texting Stiles until he falls asleep. He's not sure what time Kate gets back, the sound fails to wake him but when he raises for his morning jog she's in position once again turned away from him.

 

     The next couple of days pass in the same vain. An endless stream of texts distract him at work until he agrees to meet Stiles for lunch. On Wednesday he insists that Stiles gets on with course work after class but on Thursday the same excuse is shut down.

      “Come on Derek I'm ahead of everyone else,”

      So Derek gives in and Stiles is waiting for him after work. They head down to central park and watch the tourists try to capture perfect New York moments. It's peaceful walking in hand in hand through the last of the foliage though as the time draws nearer to seven Derek becomes restless.

      “I have to go,” he blurts out abruptly.

      “Okay,” says Stiles frowning, “I'll see you tomorrow, no wait, shoot, I can't tomorrow I've got this stupid thing at Uni, a benefit or something. They want their best students to suck up to old people and try and convince them to sponsor us, lame.”

      “Then why are you going?,”

      “Because, hey!” Stiles catches the grin in Derek's eyes and softly duffs him on the shoulder, “Whatever, Saturday let's go on a proper date,”

      “I can't,”

      “Derek you managed a proper date before,”

      “No I mean I can't Saturday I have plans,” he trails off trying to avoid the disappointment in Stiles face but how is he meant to explain it to Kate? Then a thought strikes him, it's the last Sunday of the month which means Kate will be at work updating the references, “Sunday, I'll take you out on Sunday, so text me tomorrow where you want to go,” he presses Stiles a quick kiss and runs all the way back to the apartment. Luckily, as had been the case yesterday, Kate does not return until he's already asleep.

 

     Without the lure of meeting up with Stiles, Friday at work seems to never-end. At lunchtime his phone buzzes announcing _Sunday 10am we're going Times Square because I will be in a flash-mob and/or youtube video whilst I'm a student._ Derek types back deal and gives up on listening to his colleagues in favour to text Stiles.

     When he gets to the apartment after work he finds a suit hung up on the wardrobe door. Clearly he has plans. He strips and showers standing under the hot blast in a vain attempt to prepare himself for the night ahead. It will be a work related function, Kate bringing in tow, her trophy husband. He hates these nights. He hates her false smiles, her hand constantly upon his arm. Hates pretending that they're happy. That their relationship is healthy and something others should aspire to. He gets out of the shower and dresses. He dutifully sits upright in the lounge with his back straight in order to prevent creases. Kate arrives some time later and heads straight to the bedroom. The sound of her rummaging through her dresser manages to overpower the sound of the TV. He lays his palms flat against the arm rests, desperate not to sweat. There's a spritz of hairspray, the click of a necklace and then she summons him. Gingerly he makes his away across the threshold. She's stood checking her reflection, in one hand she holds a bottle of cologne.

      “Kate please,” he croaks.

      Her eyes level with his in the mirror. She straightens up and turns to face him.

      “You make me do this Derek,” she says shaking the bottle allowing the settled wolfs-bane to mix with the perfume.

      “I promise I won't do anything,”

      “I can't trust you Derek, you won't let me,”

      Before he can protest further she unleashes the gas, his eyes burn and he falls forward. She leaves him there. He's not sure for how long as he drifts in and out of consciousness. He doesn't remember getting into the taxi, of course they go by taxi, Kate Argent would not be seen dead on the subway with the common-folk. By the time they reach the university he has some awareness of his surroundings. His vision is foggy but he can see those right in front of him, feel the vice grip Kate has on his arm as she leads him around the room. People approach, smile, Derek thinks to himself, laugh, nod. He's exhausted when she finally stops parading him around and lets him sit out for a moment by the refreshments. As he stands there trying to stay balanced he gets the impression someone is watching him. With great effort he lifts up his head and tries to scent the culprit. The next thing he knows Kate is at his side again, stroking his hair with forced affection and places a glass of water in his hand. He sips it politely until her back is turned then downs it in one. Two glasses later his vision is no longer blurred, his thoughts able to form in his mind.

     Kate is a about a foot away from him, her body blocking him into the table. She's talking to an older man, grey hair and slow speech, clearly hoping for a grant. Derek goes to scan the room when he sees them. Hunters. A tall husband and wife each with shock blond hair. Pinned to their lapels are matching brooches, a rearing unicorn backed onto flames, the Jager family. He moves back into the table and averts his gaze. They're a notorious family said to have immigrated from Germany after ridding most of Europe of wolves. Despite being old-fashioned sticklers to the code he'd rather not face them. He watches them from the corner of his eye as they pass Kate. She pales as she takes them in, becomes rigid to the spot as they look right through her and walk on. She spots him watching and he focuses on his drink once more. He's as good as gold for the rest of the evening.

 

     True to routine he spends Saturday morning at the gym. When they were in the taxi last night Kate hadn't said a word, her face fixed into a frown which meant things had not gone to plan. He had expected it to have been his fault but she simply dropped down in the lounge allowing him to go to sleep in peace. Still he would give her space, make sure he wouldn't set her off. She's gone when he gets back but that's normal. Saturday afternoon, Kate's retail therapy shelling out her blood money on new clothes updating her wardrobe for the season. He wanders aimlessly around the penthouse, bored. Stiles hasn't text him since yesterday though Derek figures he's probably still asleep. He's reading as Kate barges through the door armed with bags, she ignores him and goes to hang up her new commodities. They spend the evening like any normal couple would after years of marriage, they order take-out and watch mindless TV. The routine makes Derek pine for Stiles. He wants to do this stuff with him, someone he actually cares about as opposed to the robot sat in the chair next to him. He slinks off early to bed telling Stiles _Stop playing hard to get._

      There's no reply.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cliff hanger finally is resloved!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this whole long explantion post but it got lost when I remembered how much I hate html coding.
> 
> In summary I loved the comments and it made me want to finish this, I will do my best but I may not finish this.

He's running late the next morning. Kate had taken forever to leave, she had hurried around all morning dropping things with a permanent frown on her face. It was unnerving how unlike herself she was. The moment the door closed behind her he'd sprung up to get ready, anxious to see Stiles. Five minutes later though she returned. He stood frozen in the bedroom, a t-shirt about to be pulled over his head but she didn't enter the bedroom. With a clattering of keys and a slam of the door she was gone again.

      As he exits the subway to Time Square he takes the steps two at a time. It's getting on quarter past and he still has to find Stiles in midst of the crowds. There's no text saying that the other has taken refuge in a café or even teasing Derek for being late, which strikes him as odd Stiles is never quiet. He hopes he doesn't think Derek has stood him up.

     Rounding a corner he spots Stiles at last hunched up on a bench, knees to his chin, one foot tapping furiously. There's something off about his posture, he's sat too rigid. Other than his foot he is perfectly still, eyes focused forward in a concentration Derek never thought possible with Stiles. A chill runs down the back of Derek's neck and he hurries over desperate to know what's wrong.

     “Hey,” he says softly standing in front of the man, Stiles head snaps up and takes in Derek. To his surprise instead of a grin venomous eyes and pursed lips greet him.

     “Here was me starting to think you had a single brain cell in that self-absorbed head of yours but alas you're even more deluded than I could give you credit for,” each word is spat out dripping with poison.

     “I – er - what?” Derek mumbles taken aback.

     “Are you just plain stupid or did you honestly think you would get away with accompanying your wife to the same event your mistress is at,” Stiles is standing up now, levelling himself with Derek, “Or do you not listen when I talk to you? Did you not realise we go to the same damn University!”

     The clogs begin to turn in his mind, he knew someone had been watching him, felt the heat of the gaze. He'd never thought not for a moment all he worried about was making sure Kate never found out. So that she couldn't hurt Stiles, so that she couldn't take away the very reason Derek still gets up in the morning.

     ;“Why did you still come?” his voice breaks not sure he wants to know the answer.

     “You tell me Derek,” for a second Stiles loses his composure but the anger quickly returns, “Why come, why bother when all I am to you is a mid-life crisis, a hiccup in your marriage. A question in your identity. Someone to have fun with and drop the second you realise that you've always loved your wife and you just forgot for a moment. So now your going to rush back to her and treat like a Queen and doesn't matter about me. I was just a fling, a one night stand, I don't even have feelings. You can discard me when you like. I'll be over you like that because that's what sluts like me do, they brush themselves off and move on,” he holds Derek gaze then he's twisting on his and he's walking away. He's leaving and he's never coming back.

      Derek's heart races with panic, he feels dizzy, sick, vision burning. He can't lose Stiles, if he loses Stiles that's it. His arm reaches forward, his mind racking for something to say, something to make it right but how can he? He lied to Stiles. He betrayed his trust, the same way Kate betrayed his. He needs to let Stiles go, that's all he can do now but a small voice in the back of his head whispers “Don't.”

     “I don't love Kate,” he calls out loud enough to make several people glance over and Stiles halts, perfectly still once more, hands balled up on his side, still turned away, “I never have and I never will.”

     “Then why did you marry her?” Stiles voice is barely audible, accusation in his eyes as he faces Derek once more.

     “It's complicated,” Derek says to the ground.

     “She hits you, doesn't she?” the words cause Derek to look up, Stiles features have softened the anger vanquished. Derek nods solemnly.

     “That's not an excuse, I should never led you on like this, I'm sorry,”

     “Your right it's not an excuse,” Stiles says closing the gap between them “But it is a reason.” he cups Derek's face in his hands, “I really like you Derek.”

     “I really like you too.”

     “You should.” they both smirk the tension easing at last.

     “Man!” Stiles exclaims suddenly slapping his hands against his own face and then sinks to his knees, Derek watches cautiously.

      “This is crazy, you're exhausting, do you know that?” he side eyes Derek as he slides his hands down to grasp his knees. “First you're Mr Mysterious, then you're really sweet, then there's the,” pauses gesturing to his face, “And then I see you with her,” he swallows, “And I hate you, and I'm so mad, and I had the perfect rant to throw in your face, but you, you,” he shoots up, spins round and grabs Derek's hands, “You.”

     He says it soft, looks in Derek's eyes as if it's a statement to watch he should respond too. He's never been more confused in his life. Doesn't know where this is going, or why Stiles hasn't taken off already, whether this is simply revenge for how poorly Derek treated him. He's so lost but the warmth in his hands calms his mind, grounds him. Stiles is here. Stiles listened. Stiles stayed. So far at least.

     “What do we do now?” he asks nervously, hands trembling.

     “I'm not sure,” Stiles answers smoothing his fingers over Derek's palms, stilling them. “I'm not really in the mood to play tourist any more, my actual plan for tonight was to chew you out, buy an insane amount of ice cream and eat myself into a sugar coma, whilst Celia perfects your Voodoo doll.”

     Derek goes pale at that last sentence. Noticing Stiles chuckles, “That was a joke, well I'm not sure it was at the time, and I don't think Celia thought it was a joke, but still.”

     “I could buy you ice cream,” Derek offers meekly, “We could back to yours, and you could convince Celia not to put a pin through my heart?”

     “Okay,” Stiles says to their hands then nods looking up again, “Okay, yeah let's do that,” he lets go of one hand and spins around ready to pull Derek along then stalls,”What about your wife? How long do we have?”

     It hurts that he's not facing Derek when he says this, hurts that his whole body has become tense again. Stiles hand is still in his though, the warmth still holding him.

     “Kate's at work,” he croaks, “Will be till six at least.”

     “Right.”

     The younger man's fingers tighten on his own once more and they begin to move, “Just so you know, you're totally buying me the expensive shit.”

 

     Derek stopped believing in God the moment Kate had stood on her doorstep and laughed at him. Nothing, he had been sure, could have ever again convinced him that such a creature existed. And if it turned out in the end that there was a God after all, well he was nothing more than a monster. Still, as he sat on Stiles sofa in a daze, watching him alternate between two oversized tubs of ice cream whilst simultaneously quoting the notebook (dude you cannot be friends with Lydia Martin and not like this film), he wasn't sure how this could of happened without some form of divine intervention.

     As the credits started to fill the screen, Stiles started to become agitated again. He furiously wiped the tears off his face despite Derek not being in the mind frame to tease him, then began to fidget in his seat. Not a usual Stiles fidget, but a nervous one, long limbs making random twitches. He also refrained from looking at Derek. The daze began to lift, and fear sunk once more into Derek's heart. Stiles had come round to common sense. He would realise how stupid this whole situation was. He dug his hands into the sides of his thighs trying to hold back his claws that were trying to emerge with all the stress he was going through.

     “Did you ever love Kate?,” Stiles asks the TV.

     “N-” Derek begins but cuts himself off, remembering, Stiles twitches violently but remains facing away, “Yes, once, a long time ago. But it wasn't Kate. Not who she really was, I loved the person she pretended to be.”

     “So you found out who she really was after you married her?”

     “No, I knew before.”

     “Then why did you marry her?” Stiles voice raises only slightly but it's enough to make Derek flinch.

     “Because I had to.”

     “Why?”

     Derek stalls not sure how much he can share with Stiles. He wants to tell him everything, reveal his true nature, show him who he really is. Considering however that Stiles is still trying to get over the fact Derek is married he doesn't think throwing werewolves into the mix is a particularly good idea.

     “She threatened to hurt my sister.”

     “Would she have done?”

     “Yes.”

     At the bluntness of his answer Stiles turns around, concern clear in his rich eyes.

     “Derek,” he says softly reaching out and taking the hand nearest to him, “Why didn't you tell someone?”

     “There was no-one to tell, my family's gone Stiles, Laura was the only one I had left.”

     “Where is she now?”

     “Laura? I don't know, I told her to run and she did,”

     “Then we have to tell the police.”

     “What?” Derek jerks head to face Stiles square, determination is set in his features, “Stiles no that can't happen.”

     “Why not?,” he's all fired up now, leaning towards Derek as if he's about to take them both out of the door, “My dad's a sheriff Derek, we can talk to him if you're afraid, he can help!”

     Derek pulls back, yanking his hand free from Stiles and stands up.

     “No.”

     “Why?”

     “It won't help Stiles.”

     “Of course it will,” Stile retorts standing up as well, “ You can file a report, she'll be char-”

     “Stiles you don't understand.”

     “Then help me understand!”

     “I can't!” Derek roars, and Stiles freezes, for a second he almost seems afraid, helpless. The way Derek is around Kate.

     “Stiles,” he says soft, almost pleading, “I don't want to lie to you any-more. But I can't explain, you wouldn't – you wouldn't believe me.”

     Stiles sighs exasperated and runs his hands through his hair.

     “Go home Derek, okay? I'll text you tomorrow and we'll talk. Properly talk. You can't stay with her Derek. And I'm not going to walk away from you.”

     He's stunned by the words but he's stunned even more by the fire in Stiles eyes. The warm glow overwhelms him and reminds him of the way Aunt Ana used to stand up for him against anyone. How she would stand up for anyone in their family, that tiny fragile human who wouldn't hesitate to put herself between danger and the werewolves she loved. He was always in awe of how someone could love so much, in awe of how much she was in love with Uncle Peter. Now here was a fragile human in love with him, and he'd never done anything to deserve it.

 

     He gets home in a strange daze unable to comprehend all the emotions he has gone from today. Can't figure out how he went from almost losing Stiles to having the student promise to stay by his side and help fight his monsters. He's torn between how nervous he feels about Stiles attempting to get one over on Kate and how safe he feels when Stiles is around. So lost in his thoughts he doesn't even register when she walks through the door.

     After putting her things away she snatches dinner out his hand and sits down eating quick and fast compared to Derek's slow progress. A few times he think he feels her eyes on him but he never bothers to look up. She does straight to the bedroom after eating, he can hear the shower going as he does the dishes, then her laptop once more. He waits patiently, filling the washing machine, removing the stubborn stains of nail varnish off the floor from the other night. Finally her heart beat slows and he knows she's asleep.

     As he is about to enter the bedroom he feels his phone vibrate in his pocket.

_I meant what I said today._

     Derek hand clutches the phone to his chest tightly and doesn't remove it even when he climbs into bed. That night for the first time in years he falls asleep the moment he hits the pillow and doesn't wake until his alarm starts chirping.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow I'm actaully getting the hang of this regular update thing. We're on to the last few chapthers now and heads up things about to get really dark.

His run the next morning passes in a blur of Stiles, Stiles, Stiles. He manages another five miles without noticing until he arrives at the apartment block coming from the wrong direction. Kate is long gone when he walks in and the linger of her perfume has faded to a faint hint. He hurries about, vaguely aware that he might be late for work for the first time in four years. As he is about to rush out the door he realises he hasn't got his phone.

     He goes back into the bedroom and is hit by a wave of panic as he realises his phone isn't on his dresser. Furrowing his brows he goes through the apartment to the wash basket and fishes out his running shorts but to no avail. Now the panic is rising up in the back of his throat, a rush of thick, burning bile. What if Stiles had text him whilst Kate was awake and she had read it? What if she had gone through all his messages and figured out what was going on? He closes his eyes and tries to breath but when he does all he could think about is how frustrated Kate has been lately. How perfect this could serve as an outlet for her.

     He's seconds away from a full blown panic attack when he spots his phone sticking out from under the mattress. Falling to his knees with relief he realises it must have fell down there in his sleep so he didn't see it when he left for his run. He picks it up and sees that there is no new messages before noticing that he is going to be very late for work.

     Anxiety niggles in the shadows of his mind throughout the commute and he puts it down to his unavoidable lateness. However, even after his boss gives him nothing more than a curious glance, he still feels uneasy when he gets to his desk. He tries convincing himself that he's still worked up from his earlier panic but it's not very effective. Something feels wrong. He can't pin exactly what's wrong, its like an instinct he can't shake. Paranoid, he tells himself, he's being paranoid, he needs to relax and get on with his work.

     The morning passes uneventfully with no chorus of texts from Stiles which is understandable considering everything that happened yesterday. Still Derek is much happier when his phone buzzes on his way out to lunch. He opens the message without checking the sender, eager to see what nonsense picture Stiles has sent him today. Except it's not a photo from Stiles, it's a photo of Stiles. Derek feels his very blood chill to ice as he looks at the picture on the screen. It's a candid shot taken from a distance, but not far away enough, of Stiles walking across the campus with the brunette girl who must be Chrissie. There's no message to accompany it but she knows there doesn't need to be one. She knows that he'll understand. Kate knows.

     Someone asks him politely to move out of the doorway and he does automatically remembering to breathe in the process. The clogs in his head are spinning but they end up repeating the same thing over and over. She knows, she knows, she knows. He feels the bile rising up again this time with a lot more force and his claws ache under his finger tips. There's an urge to wolf out, wolf out and run and never look back. She knows, he thinks, she knows, she knows … Stiles is in danger.

 

Derek almost cries with joy when Stiles picks up on the first ring.

     'Where are you right now?'

     'Derek? What's wrong?'

     'Where are you right now?'

     'About to get on the subway home, why?'

     'She knows, Kate knows.'

     'Wait? What D-'

     'Just get home and wait for me there okay?'

     He hangs up before Stiles can protest and runs up the stairs of the apartment building having no time for elevators. When Laura left there was nothing in the world Derek cared about any-more, he let Kate take what she wanted, didn't bat an eye at what she destroyed. Yet in-spite of all this there was one he still had that was his own. His Camaro.

     Ever since they had returned from Vegas it had sat in the garage space. Kate had no reason to drive what with them living in the centre of New York and rightfully believed he would never set foot in that car again. Even now as he approaches it he has to steel himself before opening the door.

     When he does he is hit by a sensory overload. All at once he can feel Laura's fear, the Wolf's Bane dulling his mind, hear Kate's threats to keep his eyes on the road. It takes him a few moments to blink away the tears and to focus on the here and now. To focus on Stiles, the man he loves, the man who he has placed in the same danger he placed Laura and the rest of his family in. Except this time he is not going to be too late.

 

The drive to Stiles' is tortuously slow, he wants to plough through all the cars in his way but he keeps himself calm telling himself he couldn't have Stiles come anywhere near the apartment. Finally the high rises fall a away to smaller, greyer buildings and he arrives outside of Stiles' flat.

     He bounds up the stairs five and at a time and when he frantically knocks the door swings open immediately. Stiles is standing there phone in hand and a bag flung over his shoulder.

     'Wh-'

     'Look if you're not going to the police Derek we're going to see my dad.'

     'Bu-'

     'I've left a note for Celia and our flight is in two hours.'

     'Flight to where?'

     Stiles looks at him incredulously.

     'To Beacon Hills, where my dad's the Sheriff.'

     Derek's vision begins to swim, how did he not know Stiles was from Beacon Hills, how had he not heard him say that. Then he realises something else.

     'How long has your dad been Sheriff there?'

     Like forever, he got promoted just before I started at high school which was so much fun for my teenage party years.'

     It wasn't the same Sheriff then, of course it wouldn't be, but Stiles dad would still know all about the fire. The thought that he doesn't need to lie to one more person calms him down and though he swore he would never return to Beacon Hills it feels fitting for it to end this way.

     'Okay,' he tell Stiles 'We'll see your Dad but we're going to drive.'

     'Do you have any idea how long that will take?'

     'We can't risk flying, it's gives us less of a head start.'

     Stiles throws his hands up like he wants to toss Derek up with them but then sighs.

     'Fine we'll drive, frankly I'm surprised you're actually coming.'

 

There's a flabbergasted expression from Stiles upon seeing the Camaro and then they're on the road, speeding up the moment they hit the free-way. Initially Stiles tries to talk, tries to figure out how Kate found out and found him so quickly, tries to get Derek to slow down. Derek however keeps his eyes on the road and says nothing, instinct guiding him more than he would like to admit, so Stiles gives up and listlessly gazes out of the window.

     'We should pull over soon and stop for the night.'

     Stiles' voice and subsequent yawn snaps Derek out of his revive and he becomes aware that the sky has turned dark. The clock on his dash board flashes eleven at him.

     'No we need to keep going.'

     Stiles makes an irritated noise.

     'Derek I'm hungry, let's just call it at a night at the next motel we pass.'

     'There'll be a garage soon, we can grab you something there.'

     Stiles doesn't say anything but Derek can hear is pulse spike with clear annoyance. They've gone another fifty miles when a roadside motel appears on the horizon.

     'Look let's just stop here and we can head out again early tomorrow morning.'

     Derek doesn't acknowledge Stiles and keeps his eyes trained on the road.

     'Derek?'

     The turn off is a about a mile away now but Derek doesn't indicate.

     'PULL OVER NOW!'

     Derek swerves in shock and the camaro veers off the road onto turn off and into the Motel car park. Before the car even stops Stiles is out of it slamming the door violently behind him and stalking to the front desk. Derek is in shock but hurries after him when he can hear Stiles mouthing out off as he walks.

     'Stupid idiot, what the hell is going on and I swear to god if I don't get some – oh hey there,' the triage is cut short by the appearance of a blonde girl who seems far too young to be working so late, Derek takes the opportunity to sneak behind Stiles without being glared at again. 'You got any rooms free and more importantly is there anything to eat?'

     'We've got a twin double,' the girl informs Stiles checking the laptop in front of her, 'Kitchen's closed,' she begins then looks at Stiles and over him to Derek and blushes a deep red 'But erm I can fix you some sandwiches.'

     'You star! How much do we owe you?'

     'Twenty bucks now, you pay the rest when you leave.'

     'Wonderful,' Stiles replies before throwing a pointed look at Derek.

     Derek gets out his wallet and hands out the note to the girl, when she gives him the key their hands brush and he can feel her heartbeat sky-rocket.

     'I'll erm- get those sandwiches sorted.'

     She dashes off and Derek follows Stiles to the room. The younger male sits on the bed nearest the window and doesn't say anything until the surprisingly fancy sandwiches have arrived and he's demolished half of them.

     'You need to tell me what's going on,' he says finally.

     'Stiles,' Derek begins but cuts of when those brown eyes turned on him so full of emotion he can't begin to identify what's going through his mind.

     'Derek I need you to tell me everything that's going on, and I mean everything, understand?'

     He nods and then turns away from the fierceness of Stiles' gaze. He looks out the window and waits for what seems like an age for the words to come out.

     'You've always lived in Beacon Hills right?' Derek asks the window.

     'Yeah.'

     'You ever hear of the Hale house fire?'

     'Of course I have, everyone there has, that's not something you forget. Almost a whole family killed, there was rumours about arson for years afterwards. There was this dumb thing we used to do on Halloween, go up to the Hale house and dare-' There's an almost inaudible 'shit' and suddenly Stiles is sitting on the bed beside him. 'Derek, was -'

     'It was my family.'

     For a long time there is nothing. Derek continues staring out of the window, tears falling freely and gingerly Stiles places his hand on top of Derek's fisted palm.

     'Kate set the fire.'

     In one swift movement Stiles is off the bed and kneeling in front of Derek capturing both of his hands and staring him straight in the eyes.

     'What?'

     'Kate set the fire, she used me,' Derek chokes out, tears flowing with each word, 'She made me love her so that she could get to my family, find out when most of them would be together and get rid of them in one go.'

     Each word tears itself out of him and Derek feels like he would fall apart if Stiles wasn't holding on to his hands right now, anchoring him down. Stiles says nothing and squeezes tighter until he eventually asks, 'Why?

'

     'Because she hates us.'

     'What do you mean us, us as in your family?'

     Derek shakes his head and lets out a shuddery breath.

     'You want to know everything right?'

     Stiles nods vehemently. Carefully Derek extracts his hands from Stiles and closes his eyes taking a few deep breaths. He's very aware that he's never told anyone before, and even more aware that there's only one other person he's ever wanted to show. But he was sixteen then, too young to understand and this is Stiles not her. If Stiles won't accept him well it's not like Derek deserved him in the first place.

     Looking Stiles head on he allows himself to half shift, feeling an odd sense of release as his claws grow and his fangs elongate. Stiles eyes widen as he watches transfixes. His pulse starts to pick up but not fast enough to be fear.

     'Oh my g-' he begins then reaches up and touches the fur on Derek's face, 'Am I being pranked right now?'

     Derek shifts back.

     'I wish you were.'

     There's another long pause where Stiles looks like he wants to check Derek for hidden cameras. Derek is content to wait for it all to sink in, happy that Stiles didn't flinch or scream.

     'So the reason why Kate wanted to kill your family is because you're-'

     'Werewolves, yes. Kate's a hunter.'

     'So why did she marry you?'

     'I'm not sure, I think it has something to do with the code.'

     'The code?'

     'The Hunters code. There's lots of rules that hunters are expected to follow so that they don't become bounty killers. Stuff like not killing children, those that co-exist peacefully with humans and respecting treaties with local packs. But Kate broke the code, my family had a long established treaty with hunters in the area that we would be left alone as long as we never harmed a human. She also killed my Aunt who was human and -' he croaks, 'Pregnant.'

     'Derek I -' Stiles whispers taking his hands again.

     'I don't know what happens when someone breaks the code but I saw how Kate reacted when there were hunters at the university last week. She was terrified. I'm guessing there's a hit on her for going rouge and she's using me for protection.'

     'Wow.'

     It's all Stiles can say before he climbs back on the bed again.

     'What about Laura?'

     'I don't know, I'm not sure even Kate knows where she is but I didn't want to risk it.'

     'Why did you come with me then?'

     'I'm not risking her hurting you.'

     Derek faces Stiles as he says this conviction in his eyes causing Stiles to turn a deep crimson.

     'Wow, erm – I'm going to kiss you now.'

     Derek swoops in before Stiles has the chance to move tasting the salt of his tears as his lips merge with Stiles'. It's slow and it's long and it's perfect. As if all the years of grief and guilt have evaporated and there's nothing left but the two of them.

     'We should sleep,' Stiles says breaking away from the kiss, 'Long drive tomorrow.'

     Derek nods and falls back on the covers pulling Stiles into him. They lie there fully clothed above the covers, a tangle of too long limbs but it's the best night sleep Derek's had in a long time.

 

It's only around seven when they get to leave the next morning with Stiles insisting they stock up on snacks before they go. He leaves Derek to sort out the bill muttering something about not wanting to witness drooling teenagers. Derek tips the young girl and heads out to join Stiles in the car.

     A familiar anxiety sneaks up on him as he gets closer but he shakes it off, it's the fact they're getting back in the car. The reminder that they are running away from something. Still he's slightly nervous when he sees the passenger seat is empty, maybe Stiles went to get more snacks from the vending machine. He turns on the ignition and the heating goes on. Hot air blasts through the car, annoyed Derek goes to switch it off but as he leans over a familiar scent overwhelms him. He doesn't have the time to react before everything fades to black.


	8. Chapter 8

There's a stream of noise and flashes of movement as Derek tries to regain consciousness but every time he attempts to open his eyes they're too heavy to lift. There's a smell, no a scent that first lingers in the distance then surrounds and consumes him. It smells of oak and spring rain, of rich earth and honey. Each breath he takes of it him fills him with a warmth that he can't quite place yet one that he knows instinctively. The scent means safety, it means belonging, it means love - and then he understands, it's the scent of home.

      Awareness creeps into Derek's body and he can feel the smooth oak floors he is lying on. His mouth and nose are pressed down into the cold wood so he adjusts his face allowing him to breath easier. Mustering all his strength he attempts to open his eyes again and this time it works. He's lying in the hallway of his home, afternoon sun streaming through the kitchen window at the far end of the hall filling it with a golden haze. Something's baking in the kitchen, something good, not meaty enough to be made by his dad so it's one of Aunt Ana's or Uncle Peter's concoctions. In the distance he can hear sounds, car doors slamming shut, people talking, his family.

     Quick footsteps dash behind him and jump over him. Laura's bare-feet land either side of his head and then resume to dash down the hall into the kitchen. Derek only manages to get a glimpse of her before she disappears, she looks younger then he remembers her last. Younger and happier. There's a call for Laura to help unload the shopping which goes ignored and suddenly he can hear the familiar purposeful steps of his mother coming the same way that Laura had.

     'Derek what are you doing on the floor?' he hears her say behind him, 'Come on get up lazy bones, you can give us a hand with the shopping.'

     She carefully steps over him and Derek watches in silent awe as he takes in the sight of his mother. She's wearing the same green jumper she always wore when running errands, that always smelt of the garden even when it was freshly laundered. Her short brunette locks only just skimming over the collar. As she turns into the doorway her face breaks in a smile and the sight almost dazzles him, he's missed that smile so much.

     He's so taken by the sight that he doesn't even register his father coming in from the front door.

     'Is this the lastest trend Der?' his father asks, 'Lying in the middle of the floor right in everyone's way? Or has some girl broken your heart?'

     'Derek's been dumped!' Laura cackles gleefully from the kitchen and is immediately scolded by their mother.

     'Up you get son,' his father nudges his hand gently with his shoe, 'Come into the kitchen and tell us all about it.'

     Derek feels the need to clarify that he hasn't actually been dumped but as had happened with his mother he is stumped by the appearance of his father. He's got his old leather jacket on that Derek had begged and begged time and time again to borrow even though it was way too baggy on him. His arms are laden with shopping and whilst his mother had only a bag in each hand it looks like his father decided to empty out the car in one go. The only suggestion that he had carried more then he was able was a single sweat drop sneaking from the end of his sandy hair down the nape of his neck.

     His family starts talking in the kitchen and though part of Derek wants to get up and join the the chooses to stay on the floor. The conversation washes over him and he feels like a kid again, lying in bed comforted by the sounds of his parents talking in the room underneath his. He closes his eyes to take it all in when he hears another car door shut and sharp clacks of pointed shoes coming up the steps. The front door closes and Derek can feel the eye roll Uncle Peter gives him when he sees Derek on the floor which is followed by a small kick to his calf.

     'Get up before you make your Aunt worry.'

     Laura told him that Uncle Peter had burns that would never heal but Derek can't imagine them on that face. It's handsome and composed but immediately goes soft when he steps into kitchen and catches sight of his wife. Aunt Ana moves towards Uncle Peter's embrace and even though Derek knew he would see her next it's still too much for him to bear. He wants to turn away but he can't do it, can't let go of this, of whatever this is.

     She catches sight of him and smiles that smile that could light up a whole room.

     'What you doing down there Der-bear?'

     Her bare feet pad slowly towards him, her long skirt swishing behind her. When she reaches him she crouches laboriously struggling to kneel with her huge belly in the way but she manages it. Soft dark curls tickle his cheeks and suddenly her deep brown eyes are right before his. Her hand reaches up and gently cradles his face.

     'Wake up Derek.'

     The words hit him like a bucket of icy water and his eyes jolt open. He's still lying on the floor but instead of smooth oak underneath him there are charred rough floorboards. He lifts his heavy head and takes in his surroundings, the abandoned exterior, the stench of fear lingering under the smell of ash and it dawns on him where he is. He's at his house, she's brought him here to die.

     'Sleeping beauty awakes,' her words drip with anger and determination and he scrabbles round franticly to face her.

     Kate stands in the smoked black doorway with a gun in hand. She's got a look it her eyes that Derek has never seen before, a look of desperation. He tries to lift himself up but he's rooted to the ground.

     'Where's- Stiles?' he demands before he can stop himself causing her to laugh emptily.

     'Is it seriously his name?' she asks taking a step forward, 'Well Derek if you actually gave a fuck about him you would never have messed around with him in the first place.'

     The heel of her boot drives into the back of his wrist causing him to cry out as it cracks. He tries to curl into himself but his body is too heavy to move.

     'Why do you make me do this Derek?' Kate asks running her free hand across her face, 'Why do you make me do this to you?'

     Derek lets out a whine of pain in response as his bones slowly knit together again.

     'We had a deal Derek, a marriage for a sister, or did you forget?' she kicks him in the stomach winding him, 'And it's not like I caged you up Derek, I let you keep your job, didn't prevent you from going out, I never asked for my name to be added to your bank account. I didn't even comment when you started coming home with that stupid smirk on your face, if you had a inch of common sense you could have had your little bit of fun.'

     Did she know? Derek thinks, was that why she had backed off, was she waiting for him to slip up? She moves around to his other side and slams her boot down on his fingers and his screams drown out his thoughts.

     'I even gave you a warning to break it off, the chance to make things right. But no – that wasn't good enough for you, you had to run even though you promised me you'd stay. Ready to breed like your filthy fucking sister.'

     Laura. Had Kate found Laura? No he reassures himself, Laura ran there's no way Kate could have tracked her down without him knowing. He needs to focus on Stiles, needs to get him out of danger.

     'Don't – hurt – him.'

     Kate turns to look at him in shock as if she had forgotten that she had been talking to him. Her expression moulds into a sad smile.

     'It's too late Derek, you told him everything, you left me with no other choice.'

     Everything begins to spin and any grip Derek had is gone completely. Stiles is dead. Stiles who up until a month a go had been a loved son, a best friend, a promising student until Derek had come along like a black cloud to hang over him. Stiles is gone and it's Derek's fault. He should have deleted his number, never responded to his text, never bought him a drink. He should have known Kate would find out because Kate always found out. She had found out where he was in New York, she had found out how to get him to tell her all about his family. He knew what she was like and still he let Stiles cross paths with her. He'd made a deal with the devil and was foolish enough to go back on his word. Kate was right, this was all his fault.

     '- and now I have to go get your sister,' Kate's voice filters into his mind and he's suddenly aware she's been talking all this time, 'I could have left her with her new life, like I promised Derek, but no, you had to break our arrangement. Now I have to get rid of her too. It's a shame she lives so far away, it would have been quite poetic to finish her here as well.'

     'Laura?' he asks the wheels in his head moving slowly, 'You – know – where – Laura – is?'

     She gives him an incredulous look and then slams the heel of her boot directly into his nose, soaking his chin and her boot in blood.

     'Of course I know where she is,' she hisses. 'You think I'd trust a filthy werewolf to keep a deal? Even if you had stayed true, do you think I'm letting either of you breed? The Hale line ends with the pair of you.'

     'But – the – code.' He's grasping at straws and he knows it but can't accept that all these years have been wasted for nothing, that he never had the protection he wanted for his sister. That he could have avoided meeting Stiles in the first place and never ruined his life.

     'The code!' Kate laughs hysterically, 'I have never given a crap about that, and thanks to my brother it no longer applies to me.'

     'You're – on – the – list.'

     Kate looks down at him as pale as she had been at the university party. Her eyes widen and her lips tremble and for a second he can almost understand her. Then the composure returns and she points the gun at his head.

     'I will be after I kill you. The whole community thinks it some Romeo and Juliet shit that we ran off into the sunset together but when they find your body here the arson rumours will come right back. Still by the time they hunt me down I'll already have your sisters head on a mount.'

     Her finger moves towards the trigger and Derek knows that it's hopeless. He's too drugged up to move and even if he could he'd have to kill her to get away. She meant it when she said till death do we part.

     'Any last words?'

     He closes his eyes and he can see the house again, golden and warm. All it would take was a single shot from this distance and he could be home again, with his parents, and his aunt. Could finally meet the cousin that never had the chance to be. He would see his grandparents again. Stiles would be there, his heart aches painfully at the thought, they could work things out. It's like going to sleep he thinks, he could kept his eyes shut and drift away. He wants to, he wants to so badly, he's so tired and now that he let Stiles get hurt why stay?

     He opens his eyes and faces the barrel of the gun held out a few feet above him. It's trembling violently in Kate's hand.

     'You made me do this,' she whispers.

     This is it, Derek tells himself, this is the end, it's over you don't have to fight her any-more, she's won. He lets his eyes close but this time instead of seeing home he sees Laura. Instinct wells up inside him, he might have messed up but Laura's still alive. He's let everyone else down but he won't let her. He feels the strength return his body and his claws dig into the ground. Using all his might he manages to lift himself just as he hears the gunshot ring out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear ... 
> 
> Thanks once again for reading, and the kind comments, they really do motivate me to continue.


	9. Chapter 9

Something grazes Derek's cheek as he turns which is followed by a scream of pain. Kate suddenly appears on the ground beside him, her eyes rolling back in agony, her hands failing towards her legs. Derek looks widely about the room trying to make sense of what's going on and then he sees him. Stiles is standing frozen in the doorway, a gun aimed at where Kate had been standing moments before. 

      For a second it looks as if the young man is stuck in a trance but as his eyes fall onto Derek he snaps out of it. He dashes to Derek's side and kicks the gun that had fallen from Kate's hand down the hall, far away from them. Next he pulls Derek up to his feet and as he does Derek spots what appears to be a bullet embedded into the floorboards. Before he can be certain however Stiles is dragging him out of the house towards his camaro.

      The boot of the car has been left flung open and one of the back tail-lights has been smashed as if someone had punched through it. Stiles pushes Derek into the passenger seat, slams the boot shut and climbs into the drivers side. As he scrambles at the wires under the steering wheel Stiles seems to remember he has a gun in his hand. Giving it a cautionary look the young man tosses it on the back seat and turns to Derek.

      'I need you to cut this red wire.'

      Derek shifts out his claws without a pause and slices the wire Stiles holds in front of him. Stiles jams the cut wire into another wire, the car starts up and they're gone. The trees whistle past them in a blur, wood chips and loose stones bounce against the windscreen as they fly by. Derek wants to know where they are going, where Stiles had come from, where he had learnt to shoot so well, how he could hot-wire a car. His mind fumbles to form the words and in the end all he comes out with is 'How?'

      'Sheriff's son,' Stiles tells him matter of factly without glancing away from the windscreen.

      That's when Derek takes in Stiles appearance, his lips and nose are inflamed and red as if something had been pressed against them. He looks pale which draws attention to the bruise blossoming on his cheek bone and the hands that clutch the wheel are adorned with deep welts and two broken halves of a zip lock. Derek wants to reach over and tell Stiles it's going to be okay, that he'll protect him but he can't. Kate's injured but she still out there and the only person doing any protecting is Stiles. Derek rubs his face into his hands and when pulls away the left one is sticky and red. 

      The police station appears almost out of nowhere. Stiles turns into the car-park nearly crashing into the bushes as he slams on the brakes. Not giving Derek the time to react Stiles is out of the car and then pulling Derek out of the car before leading him up the steps into the station.

      The deputy on duty jumps up in shock when she sees the pair of the them. 

      'What happened?' she asks rushing around the desk.

      'I need to see my dad.'

      The women nods and speaks into her radio, 'Sheriff Stilinski your son is at the front desk, it's urgent. Over.'

      She goes to look at Stiles' wounds but he shrugs her off so instead she turns to Derek.

      'That looks nasty,' she tells him her hand hovering by his cheek. 

      The doors behind the desk slam open announcing the Sheriff's entrance. He has wrinkles and a few gray hairs but Derek recognises him immediately as one of the deputies who picked him and Laura up from school when the fire happened. He rushes to his son and embraces him a fierce hug that makes Derek's heart twinge. 

     'What happen Stiles?'

     'We were kidnapped – I shot her – in the leg she's still alive – gun's in the car – she's out at the old Hale house.'

     'Was she alone?'

     'Yes and she's armed'

     'Okay son,' he squeezes Stiles shoulders and turns to his radio, 'All stations this a code black, suspect is at the Hale house, injured but armed, medical assistance may be required, proceed with care. Over. Donna,' he turns to the lady by Derek, 'After you've taken a look at him, I need him in the interview room, I'll get Michael to talk to him, I'm going to head out with the team once I've got the details from Stiles.'

     Donna nods and sits Derek down whilst Stiles heads off with his father. She takes out a first aid kit behind the desk and sits before him. His face stings as she mops up the blood with antiseptic. She presses carefully on his nose but it's already healed so she moves towards his cheek. 

     'Looks like you got lucky here,' she tells him covering the wound in ointment, 'The bullet only grazed you so it'll heal in a couple of days.'

     As she places the gauze over his skin Derek thinks that the bullet must have contained wolfs-bane, he really had been lucky. Donna puts away the kit and calls Michael to the front, he looks around Derek's age and greets him with a handshake.

     'You must be Derek, I'm deputy Michael if you'd like to follow me to the interview room we need to ask you a few questions.'

     Derek follows Michael through the double doors and into a small dark room with a large mirror on the far side. He gestures to Derek to sit down at the table that's placed in the middle of the room and then he takes the chair on the over side. He leans over to the end of the table and brings out a clipboard with a sheet attached. 

     'Don't worry,' he reassures Derek, 'You're not under suspicion we just need to record a few details to get a feel of the situation. If there's any thing you don't feel comfortable answering then you can just tell me to skip okay?'

     Derek nods.

     'Right so what's your name?'

     'Derek.'

     'And your surname?'

     'Hale.'

     Michael pauses at that and glances up at Derek with a sad curiosity.

     'I see, how old are you Derek?'

     'Twenty-five.'

     'And where do you live?'

     'New York.'

     'Do you know who the woman was who kidnapped you Derek?'

     'Yes – she's my wife.'

     'Do you have any idea why she would have done this?'

     'Because I tried to leave.'

     'Why did you leave Derek?'

     'I'm tired.'

     Michael nods and carefully considers Derek's face as if he's trying to gauge what to ask next.

     'How would you describe the relationship with your wife Derek?' 

     Derek curls his fingers into his palms. He thinks of the whispers at works, the stares he used to get at the office, on the subway, on the street. Thinks of that bedroom and all the times she summoned him, and all the times he went, knowing exactly what would happen. He thinks of never daring to come home late, thinks of the dinners on the floor, his possessions smashed against the walls. Thinks of all the years he let it happen. He thinks of how Stiles listened, how Stiles was trying to help. He takes a breath.

     'She beat me. Weekly, sometimes daily, she hated me, she always did. And I was tired and I met Stiles and she found out so we ran.'

     Michael puts down his pen and leans over to pat the back of Derek's hand.

     That's all we need for now. I'm going to drive you and Stiles back to the Sheriff's house and I'll keep an eye on you until the team catch her. We're going to need to take a statement from you in the morning but for now you'd better get some rest.'

     Stiles is waiting in the front when they come out, his eyes are focused on the door as if he's prepared to stop anyone who might come in. When he sees Derek he offers a small smile but it doesn't reach his eyes. The three of the them walk out into the car park and climb into a police car.

     'Where's my car?' Derek asks as Michael pulls out. 

     'Evidence,' he and Stiles respond in unison.

     Derek falls back into the seat relived he doesn't have to go back in that car again. He glances over at Stiles but the younger man is staring out the window, turned away from him. Stiles hand has captured Derek's own but he merely holds it in place, there's no squeeze of reassurance. 

     They park up outside a typical family house, no where near the size of the Hale property but enough to call home with a couple of children. All the lights are off and the curtains drawn but the smell of Stiles and his father give it a warmth even in the midst of the night. 

     'I'll be out here,' Michael tells them removing his keys from the ignition, 'If there's any news I let you know but make sure you stay in the house. No sneaking out the back Stiles.'

     It's meant to be a joke, Derek realises, a reference to his past high-jinks as a teenager but Stiles doesn't respond. Instead he gets out of the car and holds the door open for Derek to follow him. Stiles remains silent as they enter the house and walk through the living room to the kitchen. Derek hangs back in the doorway and watches as the younger man takes a glass from the side and fills it with water. He's so composed despite all that has happened and Derek can't help but think of how Stiles looked when he had shot Kate. That focus, that expressionless gaze, it was just like her. 

     Stiles downs his glass of water and then leans over the sink and vomits it straight back up. His hands shake on the sides of the counter trying to support himself as it all comes out. After a while he rinses the sink and splashes water on his face before turning to face Derek. At the sight of that pale face and red rimmed eyes Derek has him in his arms in an instant. Stiles balls his hands in the back of Derek's shirt, gripping tightly at his shoulders. Huge sobs choke from Stiles' throat and soon Derek's chest is soaked but he pulls the man closer to him until the shaking stops. 

     'I'm sorry,' Derek whispers into his hair causing Stiles to look up at him sternly.

     'Don't you dare be sorry,' he tells him, 'I'm just so glad you're alive.'

     Eventually they break apart and Stiles leads him to the sofa. He covers them in a blanket and they curl into each other waiting for the morning to come.

Despite being determined to keep watch over Stiles the knock on the door startles Derek awake. Stiles jumps up before he can move and peers through the spy hole warily before opening the door.

     'Your dad wants you both back at the station,' Michael informs him.

     'Have they found her?'

     Michael glances over Stiles shoulder at Derek.

     'They think they have.'

     As had been the case the night before the ride to the station is silent but this time Stiles squeezes Derek's hand tightly the whole time. When they arrive Donna is still at the desk drinking coffee as she taps at the keyboard, she smiles at them as they come in.

     'Hey boys, Sheriff said to go straight through to his office.'

     The Sheriff looks as if he gained several new gray hairs overnight, dark bags have formed under his eyes and though he instantly responds to his son's hug it is not as fierce as the last one.

     'They said you think you've found her,' Stiles says as he leaves his fathers embrace.

     The sheriff scratches the back of his neck.

     'Yes,' he tells his son before looking at Derek, 'We're going to need you to identify a body we think is Kate.'

     A chill runs through Derek and he stares at the Sheriff, was the man joking? Stiles shifts from foot to foot before asking in a shaky voice, 'Did I?'

     'No son, we've still got to get a coroners report but she was found with sustainable wounds which suggest an animal attack.'

     Stiles stops fidgeting and then turns to Derek, 'Do you want me to come with you.'

     Derek shakes his head, 'No I need to do this alone.'

     The Sheriff leads Derek through the station and down a flight of stairs into the morgue. They pause outside the door.

     'You know you don't have to do this if you don't want to, we have other means of identification, they just take a little longer.' 

     'No, I want to see her.'

     'Okay, as I said before her wounds are substantial so it may be distressing to see her in this way.'

     Derek nods and the Sheriff opens the door. The room they enter is cold and metallic, there's almost no scent to it other than antiseptic. He feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise up as soon as they enter, which worsens when he sees the table covered in a white sheet before him. The obvious shape of a body concealed beneath it. Carefully the sheriff lifts the sheet off her face and tucks it around her shoulders. Something catches in Derek's throat. There's no mistaking it. It's Kate.

     Her eyes are still open and they look up at him in the same terror she reeks of. Deep claw marks stretch across her face and there's no doubt in his mind over which animal did this to her. They are the claws of a wolf. She really had been right to have been afraid of him leaving. 

     The sheriff lets out a small cough and Derek tears his eyes away from her to face him him.

     'Is it her?'

     'Yes.'

     'Would you like a moment alone?'

     Derek swallows and nods. The Sheriff heads out of the room and Derek turns his focus back to Kate. He lifts his hand up, he feels that the anger should run through him, that he should unleash it all out on her. Instead though his fingers curl around her cheek as he gently strokes her face. Tears he had held back for nine years fall on the body of the women he once loved. 

     It's over he thinks as he strokes her hair. It's over, they're both free. He places his a kiss gently on her brow and covers her once more with the sheet.

     'Good bye Kate.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(


	10. Chapter 10

Statements are collected from Stiles and Derek, backed up by recovered CCTV footage from the motel car-park that shows a woman of Kate's height putting an unconscious Stiles in the boot of the camaro. They wait a few days at the Sheriff's house until the coroner's report comes back. Derek sleeps in the guest room and Stiles in his childhood bedroom. Each night the Sheriff insists Derek calls him John at dinner as they attempt to make awkward small talk.

     The day before the report comes back there's more bad news. Derek's uncle is reported missing from the hospice he was recovering in, made worse when it is revealed he had been gone at least two days before the police were contacted. Derek feigns surprise as the news is broken to him and sadness when Stiles pulls him into a tight embrace. In truth he feels nothing but a confirmation of what he already knew. Uncle Peter had made his choice and Derek hopes he received peace along with it.

     Animal attack is the undeniable cause of the death of Kate Hale, maiden name Argent. Though the report notes the gun wound in her leg it states the bullet missed major arteries and therefore could not have contributed to her death. As all of Kate's belongings were joint owned by Derek anyway there is no trial for compensation, the report is filed away as evidence for the now closed case.

     They return to New York via plane and head straight to Stiles apartment, welcomed by a concerned Celia. Derek stays there a week until he finds a cheap place to rent near both his work and the university so Stiles doesn't have to travel too far when he stays over. They take it slow, they both need time.

     Derek never goes back to Kate's apartment. Stiles goes over one night after uni and packs all of Derek's clothes into a suitcase before bringing them to his new place. Then one weekend after finals he and his friends go over and sort through Kate's things. The idea was, Stiles tells him over dinner on the Sunday night, to donate as much as possible to charity, to allow Kate to indirectly mend her ways. Instead, Derek is informed, the girls pretty much swiped Kate's wardrobe of designer clothes and took them back with them.

     The penthouse goes on the market, fully furnished, and is snapped up almost immediately. Derek signs a document Stiles has gotten from the estate agent, officially declaring it to belong to someone else. Derek hopes that whoever bought it can cover all the bad memories with good ones and turn it into a home. That whoever shares that bed spends it wrapped up in each others arms, that whoever eats at that table sits side by side, and whoever spends time in that living room spends it by sharing news about their day. He hopes they are happy.

     Happy is new to Derek, he's still getting used to it. Still getting used to the fact that sometimes when he comes home Stiles is already there, having let himself in with the spare key, beaming at him as he opens the door. Still getting used to watching films in Celia's tiny flat as she and Stiles get stupidly drunk. Still getting used to siding with Chrissie when Stiles is blathering on about nonsense and needs to stop talking. Still getting used to the fact that there are people in his life who are here and who care about him, who value him as a friend.

     Of course it's not all perfect. He and Stiles argue, over stupid things like how often ice cream should be consumed, which Stiles thinks should be an everyday thing but Derek knows a tub full of heart-attack fat will never pass his lips, and whether or not the Star Wars films are any good, they are not. They also argue about more serious things like whether Stiles' dad actually likes Derek, which as Derek has pointed out again and again that it only makes sense that he does not. Meeting the parent after your wife has kidnapped you both doesn't exactly build the foundations of a good relationship in Derek's mind.

     The biggest thing they argue about though is Laura. Stiles insists that Derek should track down his sister now that Kate can no longer hurt her but Derek refuses to talk about it. He wants to see her again, of course he does, because he misses his sister more than anything else in the world. Yet what he doesn't tell Stiles is that he is terrified of seeing her. Terrified of her finding out about how he brought Kate into their lives. Terrified of destroying any happiness she's managed to scrape together in all these years she's been alone. He knows Stiles will try to make this terror seem silly so he keeps quiet and eventually Stiles drops it.

     Or at least that's what Derek thought had happened until he comes home one night to find Stiles in his apartment, suitcase by his side.

     'You going somewhere?' he asks, confused.

     'No, we're going somewhere,' Stiles tells him, handing him a piece of paper.

     Derek unfolds it to find a Canadian address written in Kate's handwriting.

     'What's this?' he questions, his hands trembling.

     'Laura's address. I heard what Kate said about knowing where she was when she had you in that house. I've been going through her paperwork for months to find it and then I had to make sure it was the right person.'

     'Does she know?'

     Stiles shakes his head, 'I thought you'd be a nice surprise for her.'

     Derek wants to tell Stiles no, wants to rip the paper to shreds, ignore the longing in his heart, for his family, his pack. But Kate's writing burns in his palm. He can't stomach the idea that she had known where Laura was and had kept tabs on her. She had already corrupted her new life, Derek being there couldn't make it any worse.

     They get on the flights Stiles has booked, then rent a car. Stiles has the directions on his phone acting as Sat Nav and the nearer they get to their destination the more nervous Derek gets. How would Laura react when she saw him? Did she live with anyone? Would they know who he is or would Laura have to explain? Had she told anyone she had a brother? He grips the steering wheel tighter and tighter.

     Finally they reach her road and park opposite her house. It appears to be empty and even when Derek exerts his hearing he can't sense anyone inside. His hands release the steering wheel and slump onto his lap.

     'She's out,' he tells Stiles without tearing his eyes from her front door.

     'Let's wait a while.'

     Laura's house is so Laura. Bright flowers bloom in the front lawn and every window is adorned with a colourful blind. When Derek rolls down the window he can smell her scent under the flowers, honey and spice and petals rolled into one. Part of him wants to run in there, to breath it all in and part of him wants to start up the car and drive away, never look back. But Stiles puts his hand on his thigh so he stays.

     After an eternity and yet all too fast a car pulls up in front of Laura's house. A far thinner woman steps out but it's unmistakeably her. He watches in silent awe as she pops open the boot and takes out her shopping, a tall man climbs out of the passenger side to help her. There's a familiarity between them, an understanding. The man looks at Laura like she hung the moon and as he takes a bag out of her hand Derek sees something else. It's almost too tiny to notice but her stomach protrudes out slightly, forming a bump.

     Without thinking Derek steps out of the car and moves slowly across the road. The sound of the door attracts the the couple's attention. Laura drops her shopping and Derek freezes as their eyes meet.

     Tears form in his sisters eyes as she presses her hand to her mouth. Between her fingers escapes a tiny voice, 'Derek?'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's done! Thank you to everyone who has read, commented and kudos this fic. A special big thanks to those that started reading three years ago and still held out hope for me, I really wouldn't have finished this without your comments begging me to continue. I hope you liked the story!
> 
> (As for my other Sterek fic I'm undecided about finishing it but never say never).


End file.
